I miss that time, you know, when I can run for miles, swimming for countless lap, or even listening hard-music out loud and singing from the top of my lungs to clear my mind or to wash away stressed or to relieve pain.
Sometimes I miss beer and cigar and that wild hedonistic life when I was single.
Sometimes it’s hard that I can’t speak with people. It’s sometimes feel unhappy but happy. Feel strong but weak. Feel suffocated but free.
Sometimes I miss writing and blogging but I just didn’t have enough time and my day just consume my thoughts.
On the other side people think you’re fine. You’re doing good. You’re awesome.
This is where my earlier depression leaves its tail behind.
Sometimes I want to tell but to know it won’t bring anything good but regrets in the future.
pic from here