Exhausted

Writing

Tried to keep my eyes wide open but I lost that battle to some dreams that weren’t going to stop kicking at the pregnant stomach of my mind. I have troubles resting at night because my mind is still adjusting to the fact that there is a possibility that maybe life isn’t what it seems.

I’ve grown an acquired taste for sympathy. People seem to dish it out as if I want it, people admire the way I am due to the fact I am mostly alone. They say if you wear your heart upon your sleeve you will find love.

But what is love, it’s just a compilation of all the things you feel when you pursue someone: lust, joy, sadness, anxiousness. There will always be room to love, to hate to admire and envy. I’ve quit trying to analyze my life and the way things fall. What is the point of it all when it all leads back to the same conclusion?

I’ve lost that battle with my insanity one too many times, I’ve lost my collective self one too many times, I’ve lost myself to emotions that overwhelmed me too often.

Maybe I’m growing up, or maybe I’ve trapped myself in a vicious cycle. To be completely honest, I’m exhausted and I just want to get what I’ve chased after.

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