I realise I keep preaching that I'll never give up, and despite all the obstacles in my way, I shall endure, but there are days, days like this one, when I lay in bed, as the sun rises from slumber, and I am overwhelmed by this weightless yet unimaginably heavy feeling of failure. My dreams are so far away, metaphorically and literally. I would have to travel half way around the world and I'd still be miles away. I keep trying to find ways to breakaway - I conjure circumstances in my head that would propel me with the speed of light towards the celestial gates of my wildest fantasises, but as we've come to learn, life solemnly turns out the way we picture it in our heads. My story was supposed to unfold differently. I was not supposed to have my heart broken, and I was not supposed to disappoint the person I vowed I never would. I was supposed to be more, be better, taller, stronger, and we were supposed to last forever. That's the way I had it planned, that's the way I wanted my journey to unravel, and so now as I stand before the ruins of this path barely overcome, I am left haunted by regret and stalked by the possibility of what could have been. Who would have ever foretold, that in the time his heart took a beat, the boy who had it all, lost it all. What is left is this thing he created, and what you're reading now, is his unwavering resolve to claw his way back.
