Waking up in dying soul.

 Bismillah.

I am writing this in the office at 5.30 p.m that I usually go home around 5.30-6.30 p.m. I am writing this with another heavy thump on my back, with a weighted scale trying to leverage the effect on both shoulders. I am writing this with a screaming heart, dream for freedom -of making decisions without hurting, of voicing out my innermost voice without being embarrassed by it, of seeking the new path without diverting from the ultimate right goal.

Humph and Hmh. 

I have a dream, no do I even have a proper dream? 

Why does it feels like I am working for someone else's dream at this particular moment? 

Why do I feel suffocated each time, for the crawling, the hiking, the climbing towards the dream, as if it is not my dream but someone else's that have been push into mine? That I have been deceived into thinking it as mine? 

Why do I feel less of myself the longer I stay? The longer I try? The harder I search for the light? Oh where is the light eventually? When do I see the light at the end of this tunnel? How do I end this vicious cycle of being trapped into reality system? 

I do all the complaints for the day and go back to how I am tomorrow -typical me. 

cus I am too kind to forgive all sorts of mischief on me. 

"God, why?" I have wanted to push all the blame to Him, cus despite how good my plan is/was, I don't hold the future in my hands. Is it all of them are my wrong? I have wanted to blame myself, but I don't have the guts to bear the truth. 

For once and all, wallahi, I am all speechless. For once and all, wallahi, I want to run as far as I can, away. For once, if responsibilities is not the main question. If I hold the privilege to choose. If I can even use the word "if" mindless-ly.