Someone will find this,
And laugh at my insanity.
So what?
My painful thoughts are to be laughed at, anyways.
The burden that we carry, no one cares about. So why do we carry that burden? To bury ourselves in despair of this pathetic life? Or so, to make ourselves feel desperate, yearning for air until our last breath?
Why does it matter? Why does anything we do matter?
The transience of a human being is irrelevant, and so is mine.
YOU ARE READING
Little Black Notebook | Editing | ✓
Short StoryYou were like a cherry blossom. You bloomed, but you were gone too soon. *Captivating book with audio and picture attachments to bring the atmosphere to life. *This book is currently in the editing process and prone to overall changes when finished...
