When I began expressing myself through writing, I conjured up a thematic statement of life through my eyes: All things are temporary; Only death is permanent.
A little cynical and morbid, I know, but analytically I believe that sentence holds a lot of truths to it. It's late, almost 1am and I need to get up at 6:45 and believe me, waking up is ALWAYS a difficult task. For the most part, I'm unhappy, but it's easy to get over when I have to face the world. Plaster on a smile and off I go.
School bothers me, the further it goes the more I feel as though I'm not fit for the typical, conventional job. What much am I fit for?
And.. you don't understand, or maybe you do, but you don't act on it. I'm waiting... always waiting. At least, according to my thematic sentence, all this is temporary. Life is like literature, yes? Perfectly analytical and perfectly imperfect.