Is my mind really this rusted? Is my life really this dusted?
"I don't know if I am living, or if I'm supposed to be?!"
Cider combs his hair in front of the mirror and gets angry. So angry that his eyes well up with tears. He's got no patience for that, so he
Slaps himself silly.
Clenches his teeth.
Tenses up.
Cider heard some girls talking, and hears their echo inside somewhere.
"The years just blend together. I can't tell if I cut my hair last month or two years ago. How confusing!"
Cider floats away in antigravity, sad about time. Crying about it. His tears float up into the void. He tries to whistle to distract himself, but sound is gone.☹
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