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After living for centuries, nothing really surprised me anymore. I knew that people were fake and selfish and those who weren't would eventually become so. I expected nothing, wished for nothing I just existed. The world was empty, lifeless and had lost all beauty. The hearts of people were corrupted and everything worth saving had long since been destroyed.

I wished for death every second I spend awake. But I still hadn't found a way. My very existence was a tragic one, but I had come to terms with my curse, a curse I had deserved and there was nothing there could be done. I had loved and lost and now I was doomed to lose forever. Never being able to take a hold of what I wanted, never being able to grasp the things that made life worth living. I had destroyed something precious and now I was destroyed forever.

My tears had long since dried up. My heart was broken beyond repair and I stumbled around roaming an earth I had no care for anymore. But no matter how low I had sunken into despair and hopelessness my mind was always clear, I had no refugee anywhere I wasn't allowed to give up.


So here I sit, in a crappy apartment, with an old dusty book and a pencil I stole at a deli. The cockroaches are everywhere, so damn hard to get rid of. Anticipating the rats arrival. Maybe mold too? How little I care. Haven't written in this damn book for decades, but I finally found something to write about. I have regained hope, or maybe not hope? Just the will to care, to live again, if only for a while.