4 minutes. I have about 4 minutes to finish whatever it is that I feel like writing. Not that I’d be able to finish it. But I’ll still do it, because I feel like doing it and I don’t really know why.
2 days, or rather 3. Then it’ll be my birthday. First birthday after a long while. It felt ages ago. And I really don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t know. At some point, I’m still at the lost part and I know that it’s been a while already. If not for family and friends, where am I by now? No one knows.
I always wonder why people have to go through what they had to. Is there really a lesson? Do you really need to experience it? Does it really have to happen?
A minute. That’s all I have now. And I still don’t know what I’m writing and why I’m writing. But I’d like to write some more. I’d like to breathe better, live some more.
Maybe, some other time. Today, it’s another 8:21.
You go read this as if it’ll make sense.