There's this infinite feel that I am left out by the universe. It's like everybody has gone places, lived separate and cooler lives and have taken up courses that will ultimately make their passions their professions. It's a sickly spell of envy that's rotting my skeleton and I feel decomposition every day, as the sunrise and sunsets of the world happen.
Maybe this is what they call quarter-life crisis. The pondering of the future. The assessment of the past. The consideration of the present and whether these three factors will pinpoint to where I want my life to be. Come to think of it, what do I want to be? Why am I sailing this directionless voyage?
I may have lost tract of where I want to be. Gasp.