i grieve the passion i once had for the things i used to enjoy doing. the pumping motivation in my system that turned my ideas into something i could touch, perceive, and feel now feels distant. i don't even know where to start anymore. the more i force my mind to return to them, the harder it is to take the first step. and if i do manage to pick myself up, it feels like i'm in a hurry, desperate to feel the same fire again, wanting the warmth, the dopamine, but then it goes out. left is just the wind dancing around the smoke from a once-lit candle. i used to think it was about the time i spent on my craft, my skill, my love for it, that having more time meant i would grow more. but the way things are now, it feels like i was more eager when my mind was full of other things. maybe i was using it as a distraction. it became a quiet and peaceful home when the world felt too loud, and i want that home back, not because i want another escape, but because i don't want it to slip away. i hope someday i'll find my way back, to the part of me that once held so much warmth.