When will I live again? It’s a question I often ask myself.
Sometimes I feel like a book of great value collecting dust on a shelf.
Time keeps passing by, and it feels like I’m no longer part of life.
Sometimes I wonder when my demise will come — will I have to face it twice?
I wake from dreams curious about existence, a distant voice echoing to those who miss me.
I tell myself I will never break — but am I even whole?
From the lack of living, I feel like a banished soul.
Still, I believe I will live again — and better than before.
I grow rich not from living, but from what I learn in my absence from it.
