I think I'm lost. I can't really be sure, since I'm not sure I was ever found, but if i was always lost I'm now more lost than ever. I'm losing my grip on my goals, the things I thought I wanted, and as a result, I'm losing sight of myself. I don't know what I want anymore, or what I want to do. Lately I'm not even sure why I wanted anything at all. Maybe the problem is that I have too much, that i'm focusing on the wrong things. Maybe I should just pack up everyting and leave it behind, go sleep on the beach on a blanket somewhere, eat leftovers, and spend my days in libraries reading just for fun. There are so many things i've never done, and the older i get the more i feel like i'm missing out on life the way it should be lived. maybe all my stuff that I love is controlling me. Why waste love on stuff that can't love me back.
I miss the days when i could pour myself into my work. I could turn on an album and create. i could express my inner-most feelings through my art. I have become stale, hard, spoiled. Now my art has no heartbeat. i can still create with some meaning, and i can make statements and communicate, but i cannot seem to find the spark i used to have. i'm afraid my passion left with my nightmares; like i've lost the best with the worst. Not that we all don't have our struggles, but my hardship has become concrete, tangible, real. All the fears i had manifested through my art, and now i face my worst fears in every moment, and i have nothing beneath the surface to connect to. Where has my passion gone?
