Feeling lonely,but in a crowd. I am in my own world,but that is always the case. Still trying to figure out my purpose in life.I know I cannot exist solely for myself. But the future seems hopeless, like what good can ever come out of it. Feeling weighed down,with sorrow? misery? I cannot really figure it out.So I pen it down, and hope that somewhere along the lines my misery will drain.I lose myself in my writing,and for a moment nothing else matters.Sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh.But I find me in those few precious moments.
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