My room has never felt so cold before. I sat by the bedroom window while the rain was pouring. As the water rolled down the tainted glass, so my tears did. I looked at the beige journal with a bookmark on it, deciding to pick it up to have a read.

As I flipped the pages, I saw the stories and fantasies that had never come to life. Maybe sometimes I wished these near-impossible perfect things actually happened to me. Running away to a faraway land, living my life happily for the rest of my life, or a story about me being in a fantasy land with multiple and fruitful journies.

"Haha, I didn't know I was this childish." I laughed to myself.

I was the kid that somehow fit every page, academic achiever, big goals and big dreams, never missed a day of studying and all that jazz. I used to be the kid that every asian parent wanted, but now.. None of it feels the same, I lost my "gifted kid" ability, now I'm stuck reminicsing the person I used to be.

I'm now a first year college student, moved out to live in the dorms, I picked up the habit of writing everytime I felt like I needed to escape from the world. I don't know how my hobby worked out, but it did what it could. Over the years I had written multiple stories and fantasies that somehow helped me get through some of the most loneliest parts of my life.

After skimming through the pages, the rain progressively stopped as the sun went down. All that's left was the dim light coming from my lampshade across the room, and the smell of petrichor from the fresh rain that was still visible.

A sense of inescapable fatigue washed over me, putting the book aside, I slowly lulled myself to sleep.