bleak

It’s sad, you know, being like this. Want me to describe it?

It’s like when you’re feeling absolutely detached from the rest of the crowd, watching them slowly talking to themselves, knowing what witty remarks you should but you just stare and do nothing. You look, and you wonder in amazement how they got so much energy to talk, to move and to laugh. And you look at another, wondering how much will they have to actually respond to anything.

There is envy, but there is no need.

You *could* be like the rest of them, being gay and flamboyant, but no, you don’t want to. Or perhaps you simply can’t. There is no enjoyment there, nor here on your own. There’s only vacancy. Bleakness.

It’s something like the look you make on bus home, staring from the windows, looking through the buildings and lights, wondering what it is like strolling in the middle of the night between them, with no one witnessing you but the stars. That want of being liberated. But you know you can’t.

Every single day, you try to argue your own persona, your own agenda that you end up not doing anything else. There is no moment for decision, just strings of arguments and dead ends, with no desirable conclusion. It leaves you confused, annoyed, battered and tired. Wasted.