Endless Emptiness

How can such an entertaining day, filled with laughter and fun just die once I step into my home. My house. I am no longer connected to this place. All I see; all I feel is far away. This room is not my room, this chair is not my chair. Not even this desktop is mine. All I have are my thoughts, my words. This might not even be my body because honestly, it feels too empty. This is not my house. Not my home. Home. Stream of consciousness. Too bad I don't have the skill of translating thoughts into words. Privacy does not exist, for I only have two things that are truly mine. Those two things are the only things I can keep because no one can understand either of them. Thoughts. Words. Emotionless yet filled with emotion. Without feeling yet burdened with many feelings. Empty but filled. With holes.

If left alone, I can let it out. If interrupted, everything is just suppressed and suppression always occurs too soon. I'm lost in the past and the present and the future. Where am I? Who am I? Why am I? I'm lost.