Each of us must have the weakest point.
Some of them might have noticed it at an incredible height and dare not look down. Some others may feel it when standing in front of many eyes and have to speak even if only a word. Some are also experiencing it when they have to walk in the middle of the night and are too afraid to look back, And no exception, those who find their weakest point when returning home, alone, dark-haired and only the creaking of the door is also a light switch.
After a whole day they tried to occupy themselves that not only the body, but also the contents of the head. They hope with the frenzy of activity can kill the silence and clog the empty spaces within them, in their minds. They want to think of a pile of 'what I'm going to do tomorrow' can kill the demons who always try to whisper something. But unfortunately, they forget, there are 24 hours in one rotation of their lives. Maybe they can work around this with the kind of peanuts strategies-just for 10 hours in a day.
Then, what about the existing 14 hour residue?
Some of them might try to stuff the shale of the clock by laughing at the comedy drama of five thousand dvd pieces. Some others are willing to pawn their bodies and burn calories even though they know it's not always safe. Some tried to kill the demons with their friends even if they had to burn their hard-earned money as well. And not a few also finally surrendered. They have no tricks to lump the residue of time other than by lying down and willingly ripped.
Through the question 'to when?' Or 'should I survive?' Or 'for whom all this?' Or 'then what after this?' Or 'why me?' Even 'I'm tired' until 'I really can not afford anymore '.
In fact, although they always try to fight it because they realize they should stop this all ... They are always dead to pieces and pounded thousands of questions and statements corrosive, every day, every night. Their bodies may still be able to wake up the next morning. But their minds have been dying for a long time.
Roasted in the heat of envy, sliced in sharp hatred, and possibly killing the bitter feelings of wanting to escape and forgive that they can never really realize. They have long been dead. In fact.
But the funny thing is that life does not give them another choice to really die or really live. They always wake up the next morning in a body wrapped in flesh, soulless, without desire, without purpose, and perhaps even without love.
Until when?
And strangely, though the question always lives and thrives in every corner of their mind space, they always stand in the hope that there will be a time for their turn. I do not know when.