That hollow, sad sort of feeling I've grown accustomed to is here.

Resting in my heart, in my mind. In my very core, and every thought.

Ebbing and flowing like waves, lapping at my skin and leaving me raw.

Fragile, defeated.

There is nothing to say that hasn't been said, and no point in saying them again.

So many things exactly the same, but this is worse.

I am uncomfortable and restless, and not even about to bother with writing much more.

I've been keeping an entirely private recollection of my days in wordpad, this is more like just going through the motions. I can't bring myself to stop, but going on is just as difficult.