four.

Its 5:45 in the morning and I am going to walk to the store.
I've never had this feeling before. When I write sometimes there is an underlying beat/rhythm that I feel is my soul somehow. It pushes things along, in everything I do. Whatever that force is, whatever feeling, seems to have flown free. Never have I felt so scared or empty. Never have I sat and listened to just breathing through a mouthpiece with hope that it would keep going, with a thought that it might not.
The windows are open. Could you save a life by giving up the spoiled rotten pleasures of your own? What if I had made a different choice? I find happiness in most things, im sure I could find it on another path. But would it change things? Would it really give a purpose to a life, and is that the right way; are you supposed to be someone's only reason?

This is the ultimate entropy. The complex organization of our bodies slowly cracks like ancient walls. Those 4 chambers lock. I have so many keys but they, too, rust and reduce to particles in my palm, on my arm.
The world is not fair. I talked to a moth tonight about similar things, where I found that the way I've been taught to be a scientist goes against my feelings for living things. The world is not fair, where I dont believe I deserve to be at this school when others struggle to end up with nothing.
The bottoms of my feet are numb, and I just hope there is still breathing.