Finding inspiration is nowhere near me when I need it.
The dismal feeling when I’m tired brings uncomfortable perception towards many things that are obviously unforeseen. But life must go on in the face of many uncertainties. Maybe counting my blessing starts when I open my eyes, can still feel my warm breathing, hearing my throbbing heart pumping endlessly, touching the wooden bed, keying my smartphone, looking at my wrinkled clothing when I woke up, my uncombed long black hair , my old callous feet, the blinding light coming from the fluorescent tube on the ceiling, yes, there are too many to be thankful, in fact, endlessness of it.
Going to a much wider sense about my life I have been through; I can’t help to wonder where these may lead me to. My energy level is dwindling, most of the month, but I try to keep myself in a level where I get my strength is questionable even in my own thoughts. But living really is not an option; it has always been the survival of living.
Now I try to recreate what was recreated in my mind, but things really are coming out imperfect, not that I do like to be it to perfected, nothing comes out perfectly done, it has always been a flaw whenever there are changes to be made. It really is annoying to feel it that way when I want to be done without much trouble doing it.
I don’t know where to begin with when things were not into place. I couldn’t be sure if I have to move on with it. I really like to create a more viable space for me, but I’m drawn to many things that are unwanted I shouldn’t have in the first place. But I have to guard my unguarded moment in the meantime, I can’t be sure how certain I could handle such a weight all over me.
