I get the feeling that I haven’t been putting as much passion into my work as I used to. It’s almost a struggle for me to figure out what to write now. Maybe it’s because I write so often? Sometimes I feel as if I try too hard to write about something or the other. Like- is this good enough? But then time starts ticking down in my mind, beating away at me. A fear of failure that splotches away at gray matter. It’s a familiar taste; bitter, too honeyed to handle.
I only savor it when it’s gone.

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