It's a mess. Intertwined meshes of unanswered questions, emotions which can't be named, unwanted obligations,  a void which can't be filled, realities which are mandatory to be lived, knowledge that you are a mask and your smile is fake. Yes,  it is called life. I don't know how people manage to live it or is it only me who has created this? 

It's like being a branch of a tree, who has been cut long enough time ago to forget its roots and hence, doesn't have any flowers or fruits to nurture, and yet hasn't been dried up completely. 

Can't remember the past, can't live the present and can't expect a future. As if everything is as still as afternoon air in the mid-summer.