In the quiet recesses of my mind, the long-awaited update to Ferarum has transformed from a beacon of hope into a bittersweet echo of longing, with schizo tiddies becoming symbols of my unfulfilled yearning. Days stretch endlessly, each moment a reminder of the delight I chase but cannot grasp. My laughter has faded into a distant murmur, and I sit, a weary sentinel.
As the sun dips beneath the horizon, casting long shadows that seem to stretch the very fabric of time, I find myself ensnared in the relentless grip of anticipation. The promise of an update, a shimmering mirage on the distant sands of my existence, has morphed into a relentless specter that haunts my days. I now feel the brittle weight of years pressing upon my weary shoulders, each moment a droplet of languish pooling within the crevices of my soul. My fingers, once deft and nimble as they danced across the keyboard, now tremble like autumn leaves caught in an unrelenting breeze, their vitality dimmed by the inexorable passage of time. My heart, once a drum of eager anticipation, now beats a somber lullaby, each thud resonating with the echoes of broken hopes. The world outside my window unfolds in a technicolor blur, while I remain ensconced in a sepulcher of despair, waiting for a release that dances just beyond my grasp. And so, I sit, a relic of hope and yearning, my spirit tethered to an elusive dream, a testament to the folly of waiting.
I remember when I was a young boy, and ferarum dropped, now many years have passed and I have grown old and weary, ravaged by the passage of time, and yet I wait, for while I may not live to see it, the light of the rest of part 2 may still yet shine upon my bones and let them turn to dust in peace.
me waiting for the next update
