/lit/ - Literature

Its there, ever day, nagging on me to do it. Its always been there for as long as i can remember. Its become a part of whom i am and learned to live with it. I wouldnt say its pleasant, and it doesnt get better, in fact, it's getting worse as days go. Im starting to get afraid of my own thoughts. Its an endless cycle of thoughts, its my own maze to find happiness. Except theres no exist. I just keep running, looking for a source of light, a stray of happiness that it will be better.

y/e, end if diary desu