I once questioned the meaning of life. Frightened and lost, I clung to these words: "To live is to do meaningful things; meaningful things are what make my life worth living." I once believed the world existed because of me, only to realize in the end that I was just an ordinary person among the masses. I once fancied myself the only sober one in a world of drunks, but then discovered that I could never fit into the rhythm of society's progress. Helpless and powerless, I came to feel that I was the one who didn't belong.
I don't know what state of mind keeps me living. The world I see on a screen is extraordinarily vibrant, while my own life is spent in dull, monotonous days. Living the same day over and over, what kind of courage does it take to keep going?
This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Please do not imitate.
