Rolling a Boulder up the Hill

Why dream when the world, in act of absolute mercilessness, humiliates you as it tells you to wake up. So I ask every morning when I wake up, why dream? Today, or better said, everyday there are clouds in and outside my mind, I wish life could be so kind as to let me go. my life is a blank page, full of absences, fictionalized memories, where the only voice I hear is the echo of my words. I've met only ghosts, characters that rarely appear, who speak but aren't palpable. The soul dies before the body. Everyday seems to be the arrival of a train to an empty station, or the entrance to an empty house, where there are no witnesses to confirm my existence, with whom I might be able to create narratives of my living history. If I depart, I would leave with no record left behind, except for some shameful occurrences. I was a shadow on the walls, without a face or memory, which left no imprint in your life. but escaping from the deserted island is more difficult than staying...