(no subject)
I feel as if I am exhuastingly scrambling to achieve nothing in a huge hurry. Running without motion. I reach the top only to find I am below everything again.
Life is a shell when you find that your only pleasure is in sleep and even that depends on the maturity of your roommates and their friends. I think I forgot what life is, just as the hamster forgets why it's running in its wheel. You can build a house, you can't build a home.
Only seven more months till I can lay my head in my own bed once again.
Only seven more months till I see her again.
And the time seems so elusively inescapable that it crushes my spirit to dust.