There should be one time in our lives we don’t feel like living. I mean, not living in the meaning of breathing air in and out, we still, but we’re not alive. We start questioning why all the things has to happen this way, why we do what we do, why we don’t do what we don’t do, why we feel what we feel, why we keep torturing ourselves thinking things we should not think, and so on. At that time, you want to say something, you feel like you really want to scream out loud, throwing everything that came into your head. You feel like you need to fix something or maybe everything, but you’re too weak and too clueless to do so. You think you absolutely have the right to get angry, drowned in your bad mood, being really quiet about life. You need people to understand you but even you yourself can’t do it well. At that very time, you just want to shut the people out for doing you wrong, for not trying to understand you just a little, for hurting you, for making you cry and miserable. You just want them to understand the way you feel right now. How hurt it does. How deep is the wound. You just want them to see you’re just the weakest person of this century so they feel a bit sympathetic to you. You just want them to do you right. But sadly, you end up keeping your own mouth shut. Not because you can’t open it, but you just don’t want to. Just to take the first step of that already made you tired. At that time, you just avoid everything. You just move forward, close your eyes from everything around you, try to focus on yourself, because you’d never really done it before. You just do things that will make you happy. Make you smile. Help you fix your own indescribable condition. You just want to take care of yourself before anyone does. At that time, you realize something. The further you move, the better you get. The more focus you go, the better you are. Yet, it still hurts. That’s the sad fact.