I am tired of trying to find meaning to things that happen for which I have no control,
Tired of trying to figure out life : it’s reasoning, it’s logic, who’s deserving of it etc.
tired of feeling constant sorrow days on end. ,
when will the malancholy seize to exist?
I grasp a minuscule second of mirth but the feeling doesn’t last long.
I fail to understand to know to feel loved and question whether this is my inevitable destined fate?