It seems I've forgotten what's beyond these pictures, these windows, these things I've known for years. My question remains the same; Why keep going?
It's not the repetitive motion that kills me, but the schedule itself. Is it that I've spent all these years inside these same walls, that I yearn for an outside touch? Why must I throw it all away; I'm only human. Why must I spend these days questioning? There is no change. This is but rhythm, not an optimist's game.