Been trying to walk away. Run away, more like. Trying not to care. Not to give a damn. But I cannot stop feeling this. This feeling of deep connection that stops me from growing beyond a point. I need my wings. I want to take flight, fight, and find myself. I need to see myself in a mirror. I do not remember my own face. Tell me to describe my face and I might draw a stranger. I look at myself but I don’t see. I don’t feel me. I don’t feel these letters that are born with every touch to the plastic. My mind is dead. My body is alive and well. But I’m dead inside. I’m rotting. Maybe my body needs a grave too. Maybe I need to find an end to this. This story. This story that lacks a core. Lacks life. Lackluster. Maybe some stories are meant to have no climax. No twists, no turns, no mysteries. Some stories are just pointless. Like mine. This feels a lot like nothing. But then again, I am that too. Nothing.