It's not even 7am. I went to bed at 6. Knocked myself out with Creep. Woke up. And here we begin another day. One more day of lamentation for a life lost.
I would fill it again if I could.
But I can't.
It's too late to start over.
This is my definition of living in hell.
It's just too late.
It's all gone.
Everything that defined me, my life, everything, every little thing I did, every big thing I did, everything I did, none of it means anything anymore because when I die, I will die sad and that was what I had been avoiding all my life until meeting the man who would take it all from me, heartbeat by heartbeat, yep, I had been avoiding sadness, I lived in happiness, to the point that I had the nerve to say to myself, 'I am so lucky that when I die I will have no regrets'.
I felt blessed to have gotten to 39 years old with no regrets.
Now look.
A life washed up.
I have lost the point to living.