I dreamed a little too much at times to stir up my frustration, and to realise things were unlike expected. I sank in a little too much before I could piece up my feeling, and the compass refused to stable.
The exhaustion worsened my mood when I hardly could raise any smile. I felt some heavy burdens out of nowhere and there was not much time I could take a break.
It was totally not a good day for volleyball. Despite how my finger was bandaged like a big white sausage, I could never get rid of the pain in my heart. It continued to hurt indeed but strong willed men could easily overcome the phobia.
There was not much I could do before the furiousness shone in the darkest night, erasing the strain on the injured part, to stimulate courage. There was hardly any chance to vent my sudden drive and to prove that anger had brought back what I had been missing all these months.
It was never a good day for the newly dealt injuries. For each time I smile in future, the hatred would surface.