Life in Itself …

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.

What gives?

I fail to understand to know to feel loved and question whether this is my inevitable destined fate?

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