Time is currently 8:41am. I sit here postulating on ideas of earlier, with no avail for any sort of sense. I feel as if my life has become an empty shell of what was before. It has become a monotonous grind of consistency. For if we are consistent, shall we gain fame? Consistency marries the notion of success, for if one does not become consistent he is destined to be a lost cause. I lay here, buried in a mountain of excess of time and consistency, yet hold no notion of success of fame to my name, I feel as if I am wasting my time in things I should spend alone, wallowing in my own pain and sadness. This place I call home is nothing but a cave of sadness and a hole of enduring pain. I wish to leave this home, I wish to embrace the completeness of life. Oh how does one mend a heart so burdened by hatred? Oh how does one live to embrace such a rich fruit of life? I can only fathom, I can only dream of such a life. I am so tired some days, to be consistent it tires me. I am tired all the time because of the pressure that I have made upon myself. I am tired of all the people who pressure me into being something other than another person. Maybe it is time I look to the stars and see their bright shining luster, maybe it is them who will bring me the hope I need to survive the upcoming years of turmoil these humans so politely thrust upon us. I don't know, but surely I will find a way. If I don't then, hey, it's been a fun time.
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