Sometimes as night falls, I become so melancholy. Sadness tugs at my mind, opening my heart to the pain and emptiness I feel. It’s not the same ache it used to be, but still it nags away at me. Chipping away at my confident façade.

It’s not that I’m sad per se, rather the old, dark places worm their way into the forefront of my mind. All the things I’ve left behind, all the people I’ve lost. Everything. I don’t know how those people get popular, how they make it, how they can write such meaningful words. I care about a lot of different things, but somehow it never sounds enough when I talk about it.

There’s a part of me which longs to be able to change things with words. I long to be able to… change who I am, who you are, with these black and white… things. I feel a power surge through others when they write, but I fail to feel the same strength within my own words. So I sit here, mumbling these inconsequential utterances into the cyber stream overflowing with noise. I’m a string of 0’s and 1’s represented by these stick figure words.

Sometimes, when I really think about things, much of this world seems entirely pointless and I along with it. Who am I really?

I don’t even think I know the answer to that. Who are any of us?

I don’t even dream anymore. Just nights full of creeping darkness and biting cold.