Searching for Air.

There's something terribly wrong with me. I haven't figured out what it is just yet, but some type of emptiness has come over me and replaced everything that was once there. I find myself doing things I have never done. Calling old friends to see how they're doing is fine and well if there is sincerity behind it. I pick up the phone not for their benefit, but for mine. I'm lonely and grasping onto anything in my reach...

I can't escape this hollowness between my fingertips. The lingering of you. The absence of purpose. The uncertainty of any future. It's beyond absurd. I guess I'm just missing the point of everything. The point of living without materialism. The point of living without love. The point of living without a purpose. That's what I get for dreaming. That's what I get for burying my hopes and dreams in the photobooks of others.

But not even all the prettiest pictures in the world will save me. Just a moment in time. Not even the highest heels will make me stand with more conviction. Shoulders hunched, head down I walk through life in shambles. Falling over before I get pushed. Emotionally cutting off the happiness before it's birthed from innocence, my glimmer of hope, cut off from sunshine, dwindles ten times a day. If I can manage to end my days anywhere but at the bottom, I will continue to pick myself up. I will continue to pick up the pieces.