The porridge I had for breakfast is killing my stomach, turning and tossing. Life seems lifeless, limp ad insipid; no direct relation to my stomach, just a thought. But life goes on, with or without stomachache; that is my point. And life remains what it is – all weary and worn-out.
Love, hate and marriage mixed in a cauldron. I am not in one, but aren't much better. But life goes on, with or without. And life remains what it is - weary and worn-out.
I should stop before lunch; ranting and preaching about nothing, about everything. Fragments of life like shadows of me from a moment past, a lifetime past, imprint on every step on this stage. Like a puppet with string to the past; no matter how far. What is life then? - All weary and worn-out.
I begin to wonder: am I actually alive? Or am I living in the past: a moment ago, or even a lifetime ago? I realised I have to start living. A change is in need.