When you think everything is nothing more than a lie... when everything is nothing more than a meaningless succession of acts... that's when you start thinking "Should I do something about this?", "Why is everything so hollow?",
"I see the windows, the pots, the bedroom, the belongings of others... and yet, it seems that nothing matters, and I don't want to do anything about it. Maybe I'm afraid... Maybe I'm tired of what I've been living for the last eleven years... Maybe, if everything were to be different, I'd still be me. If you'd talk to me differently, smile differently, do different things to me... I'd still feel the same. I just see a hollow crack around my reflection, and it aches so much at this moment when I see that people are just people... and you can't bother to understand them, because you know that won't make any significant contribution to your fucking miserable life. You listen , but don't want to do what people think is right, and you'll get all fucked up if you don't. You know that, but it seems to not matter. I, or you, can rot in this perpetuous meaningless. You just found yourself in a big, dark, damp and black hole. The sun seems to be growing tired of doing its job... if It even cares. The boy would tell all of this to someone... if someone even cared. But it seemed that he was so alone, among thousands."
Yes... it is getting colder.