My friend was showing me places they’d like us to go to in Japan last night. They were beautiful, sounded lovely. Nearly cried though realizing those dreams and plans won’t come to fruition. I’ll likely end it before then, still having those dreams as husks of aspirations as I randomize my grey matter.
The last thing I heard before waking up crying. They’re right. Things were ok, not likely to get better, only worse. Had been running from monsters and disturbing structures all night. A beautiful dawn and a sense of silent peace. A good time to die, a dawn to end all nights.
It’s bleak. All of the impending disasters, decay of anything half-decent, lack of rest. I’m stuck in this place designed only to pump profit from people. There’s no other place.
It won’t get better. Unless it collapses and something else takes its place. Would get caught in the collapse anyways.
Why try to be happy in an environment so poor? Any hope, any happiness is tainted with inevitable failure.
I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of being told to try. I’m tired of people, blind to the horrors that surround them, telling me “It’ll work out!”
For who?
The past hasn’t been worthwhile, the future won’t be either.