I have a lot to say. But from where do I begin? I have no idea. As queer as the weather these days, from the never-ending splatter of rain on my window panes to the sudden outburst of blinding sun rays, the tidal waves inside began to roar again. With age, I have become greedier. I am no longer able to seek complacency from things which used to complete, or seemed to.
Life still daunts. The thought of living it makes me want to hide under my covers. It's a whole lot of stress chasing pavements, yet I know I have to advance. Is this, my life, meant to be savored this way?
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