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People, do get wearied.
Weary from the constant onslaught of problems, from the fact when one's solved, yet another can of worms' opened.
Weary from the quandaries landed in, as well as the reeling feeling of descending into yet another bottomless pitfall.
Weary from the steadily increasing streams of negative feedback; and the immutable fact that hard work fails to equate success at the best of times.
Weary of the constant, throbbing ache with each step forward to remind thyself of each painful spike and nail trodded on in the past.
Weary of the truckloads of **** behind the humorless facade life has to offer.
Hard smiles, cheerless faces, is that all that life has to offer?
It's a wonder how people remain cheerful at all times, never to falter; it's a wonder what one can do in a desperate bid of escapism; it's a wonder how tragic and sad life can be, possibly be, and would be at many different points of time. It's amazing, how the feeling of ecstasy enters and exit one's life. It can arrive like stars to a welcoming party, or escape like individuals during the plague.
It's like the feeling when one is being held at knife point, threatened. Go, or die. We're forced to make hard choices. It's unsurprising to see illustrious success mounting the podium and the eclectic cheers of many below; it is harder however to see, the congregation of others whom have failed in attempt; or died, spiritually or mentally trying. The feeling of bile building up, rancidity of the system acting against your will, when you're forced into corners. Pressured to make decisions, acting against your personal will.
A 'Dummies guide to stepping out of emotional sorrow' would be good. Really. The world should have one. Full of emotional people. Tsk.
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Give me a day or two,
I'll be back, good as new.
Meanwhile, I'll mend those wounds,
Perhaps add plaster here and there,
But how I'd cope, how I'd fare;
No, this world, it doesn't care.
For now I'd just sit back,
Prop up the pillows,
Ponder about, how I'd face tomorrow.
It is definitely a laughable offense, how one could think the world was that perfect a place. Or choose to ignore so much of the realities of life, and to pay attention to only the pleasant. No, only the fool would choose to believe in the wonders life where nothing unpleasant ever existed.
也该是时间长大了.
世界, 都也不会是想象中的那么完整,那么美好. 哈哈,哈哈..
Excerpt, source unknown.
Waking. A reminder of your existence in this world.
Dragged back by external stimuli, forcefully. Away from the minimal escape fitful sleep has to occur.
It's the first. Perhaps not the last, either. Hah. What a wonderful world.
The first recollection of the day: how the sunlight filtered through the windows.Were they wonderful, bathing everything an ethereal quality befitting of God himself. Wonderful, till everything crashed in; whatever transpired through the night.
The rest followed; the alcohol reek, the splitting headache, the feeling of wet clothes that clung to the body, all that of a hangover. And for the first time, he could not place a finger to; identify the exact replica of himself in the mirror. Nor could he acknowledge the individual staring back, the hollow features, the painful expression, swollen rings beneath the eyes, disheveled hair, the individual, once who had been standing firm and confident. For the one that offered solace and support, finally, required some for himself.
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