My Third Letter

My friend, I've yet to hear from you.

Time continues on, and not much has changed. My heart still beats and my body is still in a steady state of homeostasis, but my mind is no different from it's unhealthy times. Day in and day out, I do the same things, with occasional variation. A dear but cruel friend has appeared in my life yet again, one I have been hurt by but have missed so much. I thought, surely, after our mental settling, I'd be happier, but I feel empty as ever. It isn't depressing or unbearable by any means, but it's so generic. I miss my time to write, my time to sing and wander. It's something everyone goes through at some point in their life, but I won't have it. There's a flawed image of what growing older is, and I will not tolerate it. There's no need to lose your creativity, your childish intelligence of what you thought the world was; it doesn't have to go away. Responsibility isn't dull or limited to blank reality. It's something I've realized these past years, something I've grown to notice more than I care to. It seems no one keeps their spirit anymore, which does depress me. They waste away on their device, heads down with eyes glued to a screen. It's a sad truth I've come to see. Regardless, it is the world I live in and must adapt to.