from whatever way our stories end

its like laying awake after the sunrise. it feels like this moment right here. its awkward, useless. i dont want to repeat previous mistakes. this heavy heart in the shell of a human form weighs to heavy on its frame. people always leave. you cant manufacture real feelings - lies are easier to construct from nothingness, especially with a little time and practice. it would feel right to say that in the right situation even innate unhappiness can be overcome, but we all know our troubles were never more than rain at every end of the hallway. we're clouded and cold.