Melancholia strikes so easily in spring, which shouldn't arrive in January anyways. I just feel very heavy right now. And light. Tired, but I don't want to sleep; because there's nothing fun for me when I wake up. I can't seem to bother, even with important things. It's only this far and deep into the night, that you realise your superficiality in the daytime; which didn't arrive today anyways.
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