...

I can feel it, mocking me. A piece of paper, hidden, crumpled, half torn, mocking me. I couldnt throw it away, i just couldnt. It has everything. You may call it my whims, fancies, either way. It was important. I wipe the tears, its easy to do that now. I dont feel anymore, i choose not to. It wasnt suppose to be a war. I was trying to work with you, not against you. But if this is what you want, this is what you'll get it. I might lose, but i wont give up. I repeatedly ask myself the question, what am i going to do? It isnt some stupid adventure trip. I can force myself to go back, I really can. But i chose to fight, let me not run away. Its terrible pleading, asking for help, it kills you. Thank you to the 'jobless' stranger for the help, you didnt need to. Sorry for the mess. I will never forgive myself for getting you into it. Maybe it doesnt make a difference to you. It does to me. Im alone and im aware. Havent i put up a good fight already? Are there more lessons to be learnt? Suffering makes you strong, you dont feel anymore. No, i dont have a plan. No, i dont want to go back. Its nice here, random people, traffic, music, anxiety, no place to go. I'll wait for you, patiently. Im not going to fight you anymore. Take me while im still alive...