I keep meaning to write, yet never manage to update. It’s not that I’m busy — I’m usually quite idle. It’s not that I’m lazy — I often wake before the sun does. There’s simply too much on my mind, and I don’t know where to begin. Everything is a mess — my thoughts are a mess; my life is a mess.

I often find myself just sitting there, and before I know it, an entire day has passed. When we were young, we couldn’t wait to grow up — wearing our parents’ oversized clothes, imitating the adults — because we believed that only when we were older could we do what we truly wanted, make our own decisions. Now that we’re grown, we try desperately to appear young, joking about how some kid just called us “uncle.” Because we’ve finally realized that only in youth could we act without consequence. The decisions we make now keep our nerves wound tight — any one of them could be the turning point of our lives. We are forever longing for dreams that lie just beyond our reach.

Sometimes, lying in bed, it dawns on me that the things I loved most have already slipped away, and by the time I notice, they’re far beyond catching. But I am no longer young; I cannot turn back. The only verse left echoing in my mind is one of sorrow: the dream is shattered, and I am filled with shame.

Many people ask me what I truly aspire to, what I really love. But the truth is, there is nothing left that excites me anymore, because I abandoned what I loved most. Everything has lost its appeal. All I can do now is try never to think of that dream again.

I’ve started dreaming often — dreams filled with “what ifs.” The what-ifs in my dreams feel so real, so captivating. Then I wake, and the what-ifs lie in pieces on the ground. Only then do I recall those memories we’ve blacklisted, buried in the darkest corners. I can delete the records, but I cannot delete the memories.

In the daylight, I am often afraid — afraid of life, afraid of the deathly stillness. Because the dream is shattered…