Four in the morning with sighs and fear.You know, I really wish I had a more concerning and comprehendible problem, or so I believe people would find more worth their time. I wish I had severely broken a bone or had immense brain damage or even just couldn't read well because of dyslexia. But no, I simply have depression with a side of anxiety. And to top it off every night I fear that regret will resurface. Even during the day it pays unannounced visits. I can't just take anti-depressants or anxiety pills, talk to a counselor, or express my feelings through a positive activity. I've moved past the milligrams of medicine, the talks, and the fulfillment is never there even with things I like to do. My joys are dwindling; my bonds becoming unstable with others. I don't believe in myself anymore. Yet, I will wake the next day and continue to live because life is linear and consistent.I want to forget. I can't forgive myself.I want to forget what it was like to love someone else.
These days.So there is this guy who walks to work everyday, all dressed up in his nice suit. He is in his early thirties, in the middle class of society, lives alone, and doesn't have many friends. Each day is so routine that the weeks blend together and the months casually pass on by.On one morning he leaves his apartment room to find a flower on his doormat. The flower was a daisy, wilting a bit on one side. Thinking nothing of it, he headed off to work. The next day, another flower. This intrigues him, but still ignores it and leaves for work yet again. Another day, another daisy. Whomever was doing this was persistent so he had a plan for tomorrow.The following day he awoke earlier than he normally did and waited by his door. Upon hearing the scuffing of shoes, he quickly flung it open only to find a little girl standing there. She was dressed in rags and holding a daisy just like the others that were left on his doormat.She was shocked, but stayed still with sweat dropping down her face.