(Mostly inactive - May check notifs)
Most of my motivation is buried somewhere deep within the crest of the Earth. I would dig to it, but as we know, I have little motivation to do so. Sometimes, I stare at the ceiling, as to forget my uselessness of living without motivation. Looking at the floor sends a feeling of discomfort and anger through my spine, and when I do, I annihilate whatever creature is unfortunate enough to have come across me and experience my wrath.

I would pull out of my trance after, and in deep grief as vast as the profound, I push myself down to sit using what's left of my little motivation, and stay there for minutes, hours, days, and weeks. One day, it will become a year; another a decade; another for the rest of my remaining life. I will grow old with age and become skinny and pale and of course, emaciated. My eyes would be salted, if I had the motivation to even cry.

It will be the worst torture as I let fate drive me to my inevitable death: achieving nothing more than staying in one place. A strange achievement, but one undeserving of praise or rewards.

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Hello, my name is London! I write stories on this site, of course, but don't expect frequent posts from me with school and procrastination tagging along by my side, being very helpful.

ℱ𝒶𝓃𝒹ℴ𝓂𝓈：Harry Potter, Countryhumans
𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓅𝓈 ：Ronarry, Hinny, Demumbridge (<333)

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