exhaustion of the author

Life tastes bland, and mornings feel like 11 in the evening. Time became shorter and shorter, and next thing you knew, it was a brand new day—but you felt like you'd done these chores yesterday. However, what you did not so long ago didn’t have an impact,  nor did it spark your new day. Life used to touch my mind and soul. On good days, I give thanks to God for inviting the sun to give warmth to my face. When things are going well, I don't mind if the sting of the hot coffee remains all throughout the day. These days, coffee is now merely coffee. My room started to look like a mess, and I can’t help but think about that one line: "The state of your room is the state of your mind". Chaos. Mayhem. Madness? 

A simple chore feels like a heavy task; moving and doing it consumes my whole energy. Food doesn’t nourish me; it quickly goes through my body. My mind is elsewhere, and my whole being feels like floating. I feel lost within. Out of touch with my whole surrounding. I know my mind is an abyss, and every time I look at it, it returns my gaze. 

It’s draining to look up and seek the light. The new hope. The excitement– even in the mundane things, I pray to meet them again one day. So, I’ll live my days in this misery until I can finally move and chase radiance at the end of this hell juncture.