风
I’m so tired of coasting through life—but I can’t seem to stop. I lie awake, haunted by the thought of wasting this one life: What if I end up fading away, alone in some quiet corner of the world, just another face lost in the crowd? What if I die without a trace, like a candle snuffed out before it ever lit up a room? Wouldn’t that make this whole thing—being born, breathing, feeling—mean nothing at all?
I daydream, over and over, of happiness finally finding me. But it never comes easy, does it? And every day that slips by, every hour I let drift away… it’s like watching the last pages of a book burn, and I’m just standing there, too frozen to save them.
I daydream, over and over, of happiness finally finding me. But it never comes easy, does it? And every day that slips by, every hour I let drift away… it’s like watching the last pages of a book burn, and I’m just standing there, too frozen to save them.
2025-07-21
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