Dear World,

dear world,
I am tired and sick of you. There are constantly things that need to get done, and for what? How much better will the world really be if I discover something new? There will always be stupid people out there to question, stress, and doubt.

so world, if i could borrow some luck, maybe for just a minute, that would be great. The line of paranoia and happiness seems to be fading together. I find it at the least uncomfortable that my only happiness is intertwined within the self doubt of paranoia.

My story, "ebony in white" has been all but abandoned, and somehow my art has been forgotten. My only thoughts twitch between tests, and rules, and theorems. I feel like there was a simpler time, I'm just not sure where it went.

Most people who are truthfully happy are those either in love, or too oblivious to notice the ground they walk on melt. Even the prettiest, most sought-out person I know continuously pushes everyone away and declares her life miserable and meaningless. How I despise the very notion of that. While the rest of the earth's population struggles to float, she begs for sympathy because her life is not meaningful. The rest if us have not reached average, no less eventful. Sometimes the best gift is a mundane one.

So world, now that I've rambled like some angry goth, please accept my apologies and good night wishes