Note to Self: A reminder of what you turned your back on.

I think I owe it to myself to explain. Same way that I owe it to myself to live.

To make sense, it would be best to go back to the beginning. Loneliness. Haven't I come to trace everything back to that suckfest of a word? It is that word (however abstract and unappealing to poets and pretenders) that triggered my every step. My goal was static; unfaltering; threatening. It screamed both failure and the small possibility of happiness. Nevertheless, every step I took was in order for me to reach it. It doesn't matter (didn't matter) whether I trampled on my dreams in the process or completely forgot about living and appreciating what's here in this moment. My eyes were set on the prize, a bit hazy, somewhat far, but it's there, and I thought if I walk fast enough, if I didn't stop to smell the flowers or look behind me to see who's there running, I would reach it. 

But how certain am I of that prize? How certain am I that the ants didn't carry my breadcrumbs somewhere else and led me nowhere? There are a few things -- if not none at all -- which we are certain of. One of which is those that are accomplished by hard work. So, I'm working hard. Not towards that goal which may or may not exist, but towards something else which I can actually be sure of.

This may not make any sense to you, but it does to me, and right now, it's the only thing that matters.