Others, like me, seem to have not been so blessed. As I sit here now, knowing that an empty page sits in my other tab, knowing that it has to somehow transform into a paper on a topic which I could not care less about, I wonder where my flame is, and what has extinguished the one I took for granted all these years prior.
People say a person is reflected in their work; that what you put down on the page often times is who you really are. And at this point, this blank document reveals more of me than any mirror I could possibly look in.
Empty, white, pointless, meaningless.
Can change come if I am unwilling to go make it? Should I force myself to go through the motions, disguising the helpless and lost soul that has no place in the world? And what disguise might convince a man who truly lives that something which is dead is still alive?
Without warmth, desire, excitement, happiness, motivation, what good is a person? Motivation truly is a hard thing to come by. Maybe it will come back tomorrow, but what to do until then.