Coming back here after a while, looking down from above I see the mess I made. I did nothing wrong, nothig bad but, I feel so childish, looking at the decisions I made with this place makes me uncomfortable but I don't know what to replace them with. All of this feels like a bunch of toys scattered on the corner of my brother's room, just a bunch of nonesense, many stories and feelings that aren't real, when you look at the things as they are, as the plastic blocks just on the laminate flooringl. Just stuff, just a mess I made. So unorganized I want to vomit, I wish I had time to fix it, I wish I could fix it but it's for no one but myself, and the hours I put into it I won't get back in any way so what is the point?

I'm not even sure where I'll hide this. Maybe I just won't and it'll be a lost splinter in here.