Thought would be a good exercise to practice my writing skills before my memories deteriorate based on the Decay Theory. I figured I couldn't be here for a long time as my Heart weakens and my hatred for the world grew stronger each prevailing day. Many boring days ago, I did up 5 tests to determine the day when I die. All of which appeared to be the number 62. Though it shouldn't matter at all. But on a second thought, in 41 long excruciating years, my spirit will cease to exist and my name will be wiped entirely from the world. 

I am uninterested as to how I die or how lengthy my days are before it is numbered. I have reached a certain age at this point in time, where most things and people don't matter to me anymore, well, of course, my friends still stand a great place in my heart for I cherish every moment spent with them. It is those, who attempt to overpower or impress, that I am fully aware of. That is a feeble and juvenile move, yet I cringe at every sight of it. 

The aspects of it don't interest me in any way, but it is my afterthought that lingers and angers me to the core. How good must it'd been to Proceed with your dubious plan of taking me down like that, driving me to sanity? It is you, who is not good enough for yourself, that plays the dream card of getting an attention you think you deserve. Weak people capitulate, but strong ones like me never interrogate. Can you imagine how satisfying it is knowing the other party who aims to bring you down fails horribly? But that is when the fun ends as well, for they proceed to prey on other weaklings. 

Men and their excrementitious ego saddens me. To the point where I am sympathetic towards me, who have always been Playing the villain of all feminine power by exposing/unmasking the true intentions of a protagonist. The book ends with endless assumptions but it's open anyway.

Therefore the term, "forever alone" applies. 

God, I need my cigarettes...