Living is suffering, dying is returning to nothing.
Between all the fillers in life, I find that money cannot even buy what I want. True genius to the right flavor is priceless and I dread to think, next to impossible to come by. It is destined that I must create everything myself.
I'm constantly jealous of those whose desires are easy to fulfill. Then again, maybe I shouldn't, because it only shows they want simpler things.
Life is endless suffering, until you die, and return to nothing.
I think I've been chronicling my disappointment since I was 15.
I'm just so thoroughly disappointed, and unsatisfied.