I know, there has been a long time since my last time here. I must ask the people I usually follow my long absence and my not following and liking their works.
I just did not feel like that -and I am still do-. There are nights, and days, and times, in which your own all life, no matter all the time you have lived, or all the experiencies you have collected, or all the things you have done, seems wothless. Why go on living? Why go on dreaming? Why do go on creating?
I have looked back into my past, and I do not see, neither there, nor today, anything to be proud of. Nothing worth. Nothing beautiful. My own works, I despise them. Such amount of time and effort, wasted in such trash. Why should I keep on with drawing, with my DA? Nobody cares. I do not care. No longer. Why am I so pathetic? What keeps me alive? Perhaps, if somebody or something had given me something to rely in it, something which could have guided me. Something worth of being lived though, something worth of being treasured
I know. Probably nobody is going to read it. Nobody cares. Nobody matters. But I felt I have to confess it.
Perhaps this is going to be my final goodbye.