Out of random curiosity and out of incurable insomnia, I come over to this journal for what it feels like centuries. The last time I wrote in this hopeless thing was probably ages ago, ok two years but it still feels like a good deal amount of time. I don’t know what I am heading for really in this journal, this piece of shit place I once created at the ignorant age of 14. Of course I can’t help to write after all I am writer or studying in the field of literature, and for that sake I will write.

As for right now in the space and motion of time it all feels like unless dream of apathy. If you are happening to read this, give up and read the next piece of literature near you because this entry is nor intriguing or interesting. Often times I look at life and want something more, and that is the momentary emotion at this moment. I want out of college and back to my home, I desire nothing else than pure solitude of my sacred room. Honestly there is nothing I have missed more than that.

The end

Fuck this  maybe I will write more, because I am strange