I don’t actually know what the hell is running through my mind at this moment, all I know is I feel down, I feel like a loser, I feel like a damn shit who doesn’t wanna live anymore.

I just read a book, and I’m fucking disappointed. To what?

I fucking do not know either. After reading it, I just cried so bad and sobbed like baby who wasn’t able to have its favourite candy.

So I don’t know what’s happening on me.

Why I sob, why I cry, is it because I was driven by what I’ve just read?

So I went out to give myself an air. I thought about life.

Maybe I was overthinking of the world. But reasons popped in my mind. To love and to hate the world.

But I hated it. for what reasons? I don’t know again.

Then, I realized I’m jealous. I want to be loved. I never felt being loved by someone. I never felt loved, people hate me, people use me, and people pass through my life and vanish so fast,

I wanna be loved like how these characters were loved. I wanna know how it feels. It simply means, something isn’t yet fulfilled within me. And I badly want to fill it now. But I don’t know how. And I can’t do anything because it’s not yet the time. It’s not yet the time.

But how long? How long could I live like this? I die a thousand times when I think about it, and I die a million times knowing I cant do anything but to hatemyself.

I just hated why my life was created in this way.

If only given the chance, I’d rather live inside these books, and enjoy knowing their stories.

To see them, I’m more satisfied. Thank you books for helping me set the highest standards in life. Either I die like this or I’ll be like a character in the book. And I choose the second.