Heavy

Even lifting a finger is so heavy during this time.
Reality becomes blur.
That person told me over and over that I must keep writing.

So I write.
Anything.
Everything.
Even if it's empty or just a garbage which I will delete someday later.

But will I?
I might not delete this.
So I can remember this person who write this.

Is it really me?
Or someone I don't know?
But the fact that I'm asking this while writing, is that means I am still me?

I am me.
Just one me.
However despicable.

No, I'm not worthless.
I'm just lost.
In this world when it's hard to separate dream and reality.

It's a wonder how I survive and function normally up until this day.
I'm just... lost.