own smallville struggle

It's too late to start all over again.

It's too late to find for that one thing that you think would make you satisfied about life and its monotony.

It's too late to give up on something you've held on for so long; something you've fought for 'coz you loved every minute of being 'just there.'

It's too late to realize, or maybe to stop procastinating the fact that it is not meant for you at all.

It's too late for everything you've worked hard for, or have you?

It's too late to change your path, coz you have nowhere else to go.

Yes, it's too late.

It's too late for me to give up on writing. But what if it gave up on me a long time ago, and I just can't see it?

Where has the passion gone?

The little voice inside me is in a coma, perhaps. Or was I just resuscitating it to fill the void - the fear of losing that firm grip on whom I thought I wanted to be.

Maybe it is true. I have a passion for writing, but I was NEVER a writer.

And it kills every hope that I have.

It's too late to lose something you've based your life upon.

And I hate being melodramatic. Because everyone is.

Remy Zero's "Save Me" is playing on the background.

Yes, somebody please save me.