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At the halfway point, I look to the past, put together so interestingly, it's fascinating.
Slowly, I rotate my point of view around to the future. I can't see anything, yet. But I can imagine.

Always drifting in time, there are no real moments of pause. Even when I take a moment to stop and reminisce on the past, I've only turned my back to the present. Still paving my way into the ever-moving future, unknowingly.

The past is so pleasant. So warm, so colorful, so alive. I can remember what was going through my mind during particular events. I want to go back, but there is no way back. There are ethereal paths back to the past, but still, I move forward.

Why does the present never seem desirable until it becomes the past, looked upon in retrospect from the future-turned-present?

And why does the future seem so bare, so grey and worthless? Instead of a sense of wonder to discover the unknown, all I can think about is the monotonous passing of time. Day by day, week to week, month to year, and my life gone.

What am I doing? What should I be doing? What am I missing? Have I wasted my time already? Is it worth going on? Is my life worth it? I think not. And even though I have no real attachment or direct desire to cling to life, I know I must hold on. I don't know why, just that I should. If not for my own sake, for the sake of those that cherish me. Though, I have no happiness for myself.

I wish I didn't have such negative thoughts. But it seems I have nothing else to express. I have no one to confide in, but my dear Journal. I want to feel happy. But I don't know how to be.