Life is like the harsh deserts of my home. Happiness, like water, is a scarce, fleeting resource that is so often just out of reach. Why won't it let me die? Why is it always just abundant enough to keep me taunted, tantalized, hopeful. Hope is my tormenter because I just want to die
Well, I would say good in general. I don't feel something that particular at the moment. еще like indifferent? There is a little bit of stressing but I'm in quite a decent mood in в общем и целом, общая !!!!