Septimus

     There are times when you start writing and absent-mindedly erase your first 4 tries on describing your feelings because you don't want them to be foolish or cliched. You want them to be original, deep from the very bottom of your heart. But then you take a look at your heart and you find it to be of metal, no matter what: Gold, Silver, Platinum! It's hard and tough and you wonder whether you have one at all or not. You feel broken inside but still try to survive. You feel ashamed but then just realize there's nothing to be ashamed of, and yet you know there is! You feel hopeless while you are dead set against this stupid mood and always punch yourself to get back to your routines but you just can't forgive yourself. Oh Septimus! Now I know exactly why you committed suicide: In search of freedom. But, oh poor Septimus! Did you finally get it on your short journey from the window down to the razor-edged rails? I couldn't see the scene with my own two eyes but I've heard of it in Mrs. Dalloway's party. Poor young man, I sympathize with you. You were in a state of agony and trauma and nothing could ever consolidate your scattered spirit, just like nothing can do me such a great favor. This heavy burden upon my shoulders is never gonna leave me in peace. I know it, I owe karma one for that!