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I've lost my mind.

I've literally lost my mind. I don't know where it is. I don't know where to go to find it. I don't know what it's trying to accomplish by deserting me. What betrayal.

As we grow older, people tell us that we've become more mature, more wise, more independent. Those are good things, right? Ha. I don't really know what I'm getting at here. I wish I could just go inside my head, grab the first car that's leading my train of thought, and pull. Everything would be so much easier, less jumbled I bet. But this is the human world. Tiring, isn't it?

Anyhow, I've come to the conclusion that I've become numb.

As I've aged, I've lost my creativity. I've lost the spark. I remember back when I was younger, I would write endlessly. I began penning several novels, only to stop in the middle of them all. I remember being so happy with my writing and always being filled to the brim with new ideas. It was a colorful time, but much like an object left out in the sun, I've become faded and broken over time.

Things happened, life took over, and structure pounced. I only started to write freely again recently, and boy has it been hard. This proves, I guess, that practice is essential when wanting to become a good writer. I didn't know.

Here's to creativity.