I refuse to write a title

The sun would go up again, as always. It would. It had nothing to do with how people feel, how could he? So early in the morning, earlier than usual, for it was the daylight-savings time, the sun went up, fast. Carlos woke up. He didn’t like his morning routine, it helepd him go through the day, but it was a pain, the same thing always, in the same order, and yet, he certainly didn’t want it too change. Strange creatures are we, huh? All the pain we endure…for nothing — all the greatest things in life, he had heard, are for those people who never care for such small things. He cared, it weighed on him. At night his body sunk in heavyness though he couldn’t sleep until very late and at morning his eyelids felt as if they were made of a heavy, thick material. A sign of being old and stupid, he knew, even though he wasn’t that old and he even, as a kid, won a second prize at school for completing a high IQ test or something. Where did it all went? Why do we always end up like this, and the worse: asking ourselves. I don’t want to complete this story, it’s not a finished thing. It’s our life. It’s what most of us will take with us tomorrow, deep in our beloved hearts that keep beating forever, the only part of ourselves that still got hope. That still got love to give. That secretly says: “Go live!”.