Drop.

Grabbing at straws that fly away. Grabbing but failing. Knowing that those small, refined strands are things you hold dear to, and were once things that kept you going, kept your day bright.

Know how I feel? Don’t think so.

I don’t even know what I feel about it. Sometimes this feeling comes, and I manage to bottle it. Times like these… it comes and swallows me. I wish I could just never ever have this feeling, but the way I am now, army and all? Not possible.

Knowing that each day more and more straws fly away, and I can’t do anything to grab them back. Knowing that in a month, it’ll probably get worse and by the end of 2 years… who knows what I’m left with.

It just sucks sucks sucks. Just a drop of insignificance in the sea of everyday life. That’s what it is now.

Partly my fault, partly God’s fault, partly every damn straws fault. Whatever.

I’m just a damned drop.

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