Resurrected wreck? Ah what bliss!
I've been searching for inspiration everywhere. In the parks, woods, music, books, words, cinema.. Even within myself. It just doesn't happen. Sure, something manages to give me brief passion and emotion. But these are almost always extremely short lived. Dying out in the same fizz that they had erupted. Nothing ever makes me belong. I can calmly and dispassionately view things and be completely unmoved.
The problem is, there is a secret longing lurching in my soul that somehow someone or something would rekindle my fire. This state of disinterest irritates me but prevents me from actually doing anything. I just mourn the loss of my interest and grumble and go into fantasy-land. What is wrong with me? Why am I unable to focus, dream or at least show decent enthusiasm that my peers seem to be infinitely capable of irrespective of my snobbish nature telling me that I am better? I cannot but foretell gloomily that it's going to be this way for a long time.
Hmmm.. Hopefully I can talk myself out of this urge for public attention so that I can be content with the passivity that I'm doomed to endure.
Potential. That's all I'm going to be, I guess.
