It's never too late to feel sorry for yourself. There's always the option of giving up and wishing for everything to stop. It's not the best option, and it probably won't do shit, but again, since when did any other option work?
What will you gain when you give it your best?
You can bust your ass trying for no avail.
And for what cost?
I don't regret a thing, but in the end, I'm rendered helpless and a loser.
It's 2:05 AM. It's dark and she's not there. It feels different. I don't like it. I don't have anyone to share my day with. A hopeless romantic isn't how I'd want to come off as, and I've already taken all the mockery. But it's still me, and I'm still hung up.
I look at the top right corner of my phone. It's 2:07. Everything comes back all at once. The good, the bad, and the dirty. I swipe down, and the date reads that it's been over a month. Why don't I feel any different? Why is the hollowness inside my chest still my reality? There's emptiness that I feel that trembles me and I don't know how to handle it. You were always there, and I'm clinging onto the past because it feels familiar. LailaTarek7 knows that sentence most.
After this point, each minute feels like eternity. Each one filled with the same thoughts and I wonder when will it come to a halt.
The sunlight creeps in. I hate it. Another morning is upon us. Doesn't feel different than the ones that passed. Nothing seems to change.
Eternal doom.
