Disturbed. I am always disturbed. And it sucks to think about it. The irony of life is either wonderful or devastating. I can't figure out why I am mold like this. I am supposed to live by the saying: life goes on. Unfortunately, I have always thought how it ceases. Figuratively.
Hi, this is my first blog and though I think about how I want this to be really exciting. I think again. And it is not. I am a vessel of a lifeless entity. I see my meaning but I am blinded by it. I close my mind like how I close my eyes tightly. I endure pain like how it is inflicted. I can't stop my pessimism more than I would want to. Everything in life is luck. But I still feel unlucky. I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.
Maybe I will never be happy if I continue to search for what happiness consists of. I will never live if I am looking for the meaning of life. The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing. You fall out of your mother's womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave.
