Dearest D,

Parked somewhere within the business district, I take stock of what I missed when I read the instructions sent over to me by the manager. Turns out there was a cut-off time for processing titles. What a way to start the week and on my birthday, no less.

D, I am tired. Still tired of life. Landing in the ideal job did not make a difference. It still feels the same. I am tired of having to wake up to a world where the young is left to fix the problems left behind by their elders. You would think with a rich history such as ours we would learn from the past.

I wish I never told anyone about the demons that frolic within my mind. The mental state I am in. It has made me feel that I am now more of an inconvenience to them and at a vulnerable disadvantage ripe for the picking-on.

I am tired of new years, of Christmases and of birthdays. Especially, the latter. It only reminds me that I was born to eventually die one day.

I am tired, D. So tired.



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