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Whenever I come back here I always want to start over. I want to feel everything I'm supposed to feel, forget the things I've hated to comsume me. Everytime I come here I feel the lowest. I realise that I'm alone here with just the moon and it's reflection casting pale light and shadows across my face. It makes me wonder how long a mask needs to be worn until it causes suffocation. I've lasted through longer than that, the suffocation consuming every part of me.
It's cooler here, with only the breeze pressing the smell of the sea into my body. I inhale it while it lasts, trying not to choke on the feeling of satisfaction. I only last up until a point before I think that hope exists. I've been there, it only comes crashing back on you, crushing the very being of your soul. Hope doesn't exist, it is false.
I feel the pressure of everything weighing down my existance.
Will I prevail? Or will I crush into oblivion?