ill



I feel ill and I push it. And I wonder why I feel ill and I push it some more. And then I wake up and think ‘shit, I woke up again.’ Then I realise that my mother would be upset if I didn’t and feel I have a duty to try to continue until her and my father are gone. It’s not easy because everything becomes so pointless. Everything feels like a pushing towards something for the sake of someone else; someone who never cares… whether that be the owner of a company or the distant woman one loves. In moments of weakness I give in and shout out how I feel, yet all ends in naught. For we can dream and pine and hope and desire, we can offer our love and pour out the deepest secrets of our passionate affections… these only serve to push those for whom we long further away. Clouds of frustration set in and burst their pouring misery upon our unprotected hearts and minds and we cower to our quiet corners and weep for what we shall never have… never realising that the very thing that causes us to want so desperately is the notion, the knowledge, that obtaining this dream is not possible. And there is only one thing worse than pining for that which we cannot have… that is obtaining it.

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