Things were fine. Things were great. I have spent the last three days almost happy.
And then this. This… emptiness. I know not where it comes, only that it takes. I have no feeling now.
I type this out because I have chosen to. It is a duty. I am existing, but have no reason to. I am an empty shell.
Shells. I used to collect them. Back when I visited the shore.
I used to love going to the ocean. I was enchanted by all things water. Fish were magical creatures with so much grace, and dolphins were the children of the sea. I was drawn to them, and wished with everything that I could breath underwater.
I used to convince myself if I imagined it hard enough, it would become a reality. And the reason I kept choking when I put my head under the water was because there was still doubt in my mind.
Eventually, I understood. My lungs were not created to convert water to oxygen. But even still, my goal was to breath underwater; to be able to exist in the place I felt home. So I began inventing.
I never succeeded…
Failure isn’t real until you give up. And a home is no longer one when all you find is fear.
I didn’t want this. But what else could I do?
In order to survive, I have blocked so many memories, and given up so many dreams. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am, or why I keep walking in this shadow land. To most people that would be a scary thought, but I have lived the majority of my life in this darkness.
I’m lost… But keep moving… Because I can. I exist, and have no purpose… Or do I? Who knows?
Maybe I died a long time ago. Maybe my body simply continues to breath because I never told it to stop.
One thing I know for sure: I feel empty.