Where Faces Fall Apart

I got through Convergys. (",)
Still, I must be the saddest person on earth this minute.

If I believe.

***
People want and need different things to make them continue breathing. It's a fact almost as fascinating as the previous existence of Barter.
Some would trade oxygen for books, food for letters, money for dreams.
Unfortunately though, it's not anything like a 7-11 store: open 24 hours a day, counting weekends, holidays and nights when everyone is huddled inside thick blankets.

But, damn it. If only that were true.

At this moment, I'm willing to barter my soul if only to continue being in school; to keep on writing in the imperfectly laid out pages of the journal and to remain speaking in front of a podium, even if watched by only a handful of naive apprentices.

You seldom find people with chock-full contentment. You rarely become one.
And I'm scared to know why I've reached living a worthless life.

Maybe, it is a long walk to forever as what I heard when I turned thirteen.
Or perchance, there are just things that are hard to demarcate from the imaginative.

***
Thank you.