Sitting down, alone, made me think.
What have I done with everything?
What have I done with my life?
It angered me to think that the time goes by so quickly ,
that my life may end without warning,
and I haven't actually done anything.
The empty feeling that pained my heart
Was the indication that I was human.
Human, but normal.
Normal, and average.
A human that will be forgotten in a handful of months after my death.
I'm sitting down, right now on my living room couch.
Today I have done nothing but flee from reality, and seek shelter in a book.
Today I wished my mother a happy birthday.
Today, I did some math.
I've been alive all these years.
And yet I have just realized that I'm empty.
And the only thing I mourn
Is the time where I was younger and never realized that every day is an unnoticeable replica of the other days.
And all I mourn is
The time where I was free to do whatever I wanted with my mirrored days.
And to be honest with myself-
I have done absolutely nothing with this empty, fake, life I call mine.
And I don't know what to do anymore.