Lost

As I sit here in the couch depressing over something I cannot utter in words and just letting this emotion sink in with me seating.

My thoughts is being taken away from me and throwing words which my heart could not comprehend however, understood.

How is it even possible that I can still keep writing this non sense with so much satisfaction within? I actually intend to write something, a story perhaps but my personal mishaps is taking such a toll on me that I could not stop vocalizing so many unuttered words this loud, in this platform where everyone could actually read and relate to? Maybe.

Is this even a story to tell? Is it even worth reading without any actual content or even a substance?

Which now leads me to a realization that my life may shift in so many turns when I get lost in my own head space. I feel like I am imagining things I am not sure if I could carry out all the way through the rest of my moral existence.

Conscience may speak in different rhythm but meant the same thing according to google “a person's moral sense of right and wrong, viewed as acting as a guide to one's behaviour. Example "he had a guilty conscience about his desires"

I must admit this is an outburst, my very own cry. Let me cry some more, more, and more all these un uttered words.

Were you ever this weird telling you non fiction story?

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