And sometimes I wonder at my forbearance to do nothing, contemplating on the time that I have wasted I'd think I haven't actually wasted any. No poems generate within my beating heart, no prose finding space within my shady brain, no inch of my open skin seek books and characters engendered are of no interest to me. Sometimes, I just want to look out of the window observing nothing, I don't crave fancy views and the only thing I really can focus on is emptiness. Sometimes, I crave it too much for it fills me with hope of abundance in future.
Sometimes, I look out of the window for nothing.
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