Reality.

The Spark.

You know, sometimes life feels dull.

No matter what you do, eat, see, nothing changes. That spark that used to ignite when you felt touch or saw something beautiful or mysterious is gone.

I'm afraid that life will become repetitive, the same cycle.

Wake up.
Eat.
Work.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.

Nothing new, nothing different. On the weekends you have to do chores, so even then there is no time.

I don't want life to become boring, and honestly, I don't know what makes life interesting in the first place.

Is it friends? Who cheer you up?

Is it activities? That brings excitement to your life?

Or is it just being free? Free from all of life worries?

Even if those things were to make life 'interesting', there is no actual fix to this issue.

To simply state it, no matter what you do, you will always want more.

No matter how much money, how many friends, and how many hobbies you have, it will never be enough.

Nothing is ever enough for humans. Our greed is one of our many fatal flaws. Something that we will always be reminded of every time we achieve anything.

My heart aches, but it shouldn't. I get all these things, yet nothing makes me completely happy.

And oh, the guilt that brings, the feeling that I'm acting spoilt, and that I should be grateful. I'm insanely grateful for all that I have been given, the cards that I was dealt, but it does not fill that emptiness in my heart.

Friends were never something that I found easily. Good friends, at least. The good ones ended up moving away, and you know how that goes. You promise to always talk, and one day you just drift away, conversations becoming shorter, until the last time you talked was 2 years ago, and you don't even know basic things, like what their favourite colours are.

Those friends will always remain friends, just ones that will never make another appearance into your life.

Then you have the friends who stay. Those aren't any better. They put you and your problems down. Make you feel unworthy of feelings and love, prevent you from speaking to anyone else, afraid that you might slip from their deathly tight grasp. The grasp that you want nothing more than to escape from, but one that you can't bring yourself to ever act.

As soon as you think about opening that hand, it draws you back in, as if it knows that you might leave. You think to yourself that those good moments must outweigh the bad, no matter how scarce they are.

No one is perfect. Life is never perfect.

Nothing is, nor will be perfect.