I stare at a blank page. Literally. I don’t know what to write, I don’t feel like to write, but here I am, writing. You know when someone got really stuck at something, they usually looking for a release. And now I’m stuck, but I don’t what I have to do.
Then I started to think, that I’m a different person. I used to remember about myself 5-6 years ago, when I still young and passionate. Backdays I felt time flies and I fly in it. I didn’t have time to day dreaming because I was so busy, I lived in hope that I wish I have more than 24-hours a day, because it’s just not enough for me.
Now I’m played out, motionless, unpassionate. Although I’m smiling, I feel empty inside. I used to dance all day, every week, every month. I used to create a choreography with a snap on my finger but now, geez, I hardly remember any steps. What ashamed.
And still at this end of this post I still feel empty.
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