You know those small moments along the way where you’re defeated by everything, and all you can do is hold onto yourself and cry and cry and cry? The weight of the world shoves you down until you’re an insignificant speck of darkness, eternally unable to bring about change in the grander scheme of things. You can only hope that the tears you push is out is a small sliver of the weight inside you; but alas, it is to no avail, for you still feel that terrible coexistence of heaviness and emptiness wallowing in the pit of your existence. You are so little, so weak, so fucking pathetic. You’re the scum stuck underneath the shoes which you allow to tread over your brittle heart again and again, because you’re too afraid to speak up for once. You are a walking disaster, and you are as ugly as the world you dread waking up to every fog-filled morning. Because, wake up darling, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel—only a dead end. And you continue whispering to yourself and writing to journals that never talk back and missing people that never think about you, ever. In the end, there is only you, and you are the only tangibly real thing in a world is always changing and moving on without the ones who have the strength to catch up. All you can do is hold onto whoever is around at the moment—but don’t get too attached, for they’ll leave soon, just like the many others before them—and pray that you don’t get swallowed up in the infinite darkness once again.