Do I feel sad for the days , I haven’t lived enough .
Or do I feel sad for the moments , I haven’t cherished thoroughly.
I do talk , nowadays . But , now my talks lack content and nectar , they are bereft of the essence of life .
I’m retrieving myself into a coccoon , which is made up of the very fabric of my fear and consciousness. By this , I’m not questioning the way introverts spend their lives ; just it scares me. What if I’m not , and becoming one. What if deep down I have this urge to seek help but whenever I reconsider , I give up , not seeing anyone in near sight .
Somedays I realize , that all days are like this . Not getting any better with the passing time .
I feel and sympathize for myself , but have lost the human ability to empathize. I’m so self absorbed in my own emotions that , I’m drowning in it.
Sometimes I wish to run away to someplace nice to fill that void I have been feeling , for God only knows how long .
I’m striving for meaning , which can validate my existence so far and give me a reason to live for so many years till I reach my doomsday.
Things which can enrich and rejuvenate that tired soul which is just done existing . I need that fire , not just a spark sizzling through my soul .
Sometimes , existing can be exhausting but living is never , because it has meaning which peddles your life forward.
I have learned that there are things which are just not meant for me .
They do not add up to my life , my joy , my idea of life , irrespective of the degree of relevance they have in other’s life.
I feel intimidated by my own existence .
I feel fearful of what resides in me , particularly my thought cascade .
I try but often fail to put a stop to this cascade .