It's funny, because as I grow older I seem to have less and less to say. There is a certain element to my old-self, that sparkled with innovation, creativity, and a raw talent that surprised me. I had so many THOUGHTS, so many passionate ideas and flavors at the tip of my tongue. Those were the days when I dissolved into paper like a fish would the sea. I loved the written word, and I felt that love spill from me in the most unexpected moments. I was beginning to realize the vast labyrinth of my mind, and it sent thrills of excitement through me.
And then it stopped.It was slow at first, a gradual decline. Call it getting older, call it heartbreak and resignation, call it perfectionism or self-degradation. I don't know what it was, though I wish I did. Maybe then I could reverse this sudden quiet that seems to be descending all around me. My brain, my mind, my one passion in life for learning and creativity, is shutting off. I wish I could say I don't recognize myself anymore, but to be quite honest, I don't think about it. I don't think about much, other than these primal driven instincts which seem to have become all that is left of me. Food. Sleep. Protect myself, protect my heart. I don't want to hurt anymore. Never.
I feel like I'm closing myself off from life, from living. Most importantly, from feeling. It's been replaced by anger, irritation, and an overwhelming nothing. I'll be the first to admit it, I've become boring. I've become afraid of myself, and what the world can do to me.
I don't know how to fix this. I don't know, if my primal instincts, even want to. So for now, I suppose all that is left to do is try. Try to fix this mess, the universe seems to have created out of me.