I looked in the mirror and I cried. I shouted again and again how much I hate myself like the others do. I see no future, just a room. A bookshelf filled with books. A window-seat calling my name to sit and read there while the sun shines in. A white hammock chair swaying side to side as someone sat there. Waiting for me.
My journey to that room is lonely and long. I find the room, and look for that person who had once called me.
But they lost hope. They left long ago.
Now it’s just me. And once again i’m all alone.
Just the window seat, the room, and me.
And I cry all over again until I have to find the next person waiting in a identical room.
And it’s hell walking this path, but i’m afraid of stopping.