Where are my thoughts that believed nothing can be believed in? May be the ever aging time gave me reasons to justify my inherent drive to do nothing. My views are getting shut to the obviousness of life. My eyes see images of life as an accumulation of aminoacids and proteins. Where is the innocent lens that i used to look people at. Where is the curiosity of the child that made me ponder. Where are the dreams that i loved the night for. Where are the images of suspense that made my heart skip a beat.
You just cant break everything into smaller pieces and try to solve them. Especially if you dont actually have to solve them.