desiccated. lacklustre (in the pursuit of fulfilment/passion). i am a desert. the oasis is a merely a hole of dried earth. why is there hardly a thing now that can make my heart beat with euphoria, just like the old, golden days??? perhaps now is a season of unfortunate convergences - lost that sheer luck to get my hands on a good book/movie/flow of language etc (even my sentences are so awfully disjointed rn) that can redeem me from my passion-centered stasis. there is trouble when i simply become disinterested even in living vicariously through someone else. why does passion in all forms elude me all at once?? (i feel like only the ultimatum can be my trump card out; but it is still lying in the deck & may never be mine - yet i also know that it makes sense to hope for the best & not expect at all. the line invariably blurs between faith & expectation - if i believe that God can make a miracle, does that imply i'm expecting him to come true for me??)
i keep looking back to the past for reference & it was truly the bad that had coloured the good into magnificence. how precious the good had seemed then. yet, i wouldn't want to go back - this is my dilemma. i am uncomfortably comfortable in my wizened cocoon.
solitude used to charm me like an addiction. now i feel like i need to be around people to ward off the boredom of being a profligate (of time). funny how the (hopefully momentary) absence of passion leaves a void that mutates even my intrinsic personality.
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