I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The occasional passing car casts shadows across the ceiling like bizarre dark clouds across a white sky. Thoughts and memories start to creep in and I am powerless to stop them.
The sun rises and the room brightens yet all else remains in darkness. Is there really a point â?? a reason to get up?
I get up anyway, but there is no feeling, no direction. Among the questions forming and reforming in my head, the one that is predominant is â??why?â??.
The day goes just like the night â?? endless and pointless. Everything is just shadows on the wall.
I try to find solace among those who are supposed to care and understand but I am still faced with that one, nagging question - why?
I love being the friend who people talk to only when there is no one better to chat with. The one who writes from the heart, who offers his shoulder to others in need, the one cares only to be cast aside when he is not needed. I once asked is it more painful to be told to "fuck off" or to just be ignored? Hell, now I think I would be grateful to be told to "fuck off".