Meaningless.

I feel as if I spend the majority of my days, weeks, months, years doing worthless tasks that have an empty purpose. I am stuck in an environment where being myself is not an option and I’m becoming numb to portraying the kind of fakeness that I loathe in others.

I find myself staring out of my office, passed rows of cubicles, through the outline of chairs and boxes and out of a lonely window where I can sometimes see the wind blowing the branches and leaves on the tree just outside of it.

I long to be free from this futility…to be climbing that tree rather than gazing at it through glass panes.

I feel the urge to cry, and yet find no tears to satisfy this inclination.