Somewhere between now and fifteen years ago, I lost my fire.
I didn’t even notice… It is one of those things, which disappear without traces.
Fifteen years ago, I was stubborn and defiant. Resilient to the hostile impulses from outside. Resilient to everything. I clung to life and my goals, with teeth and claws. I was desperate. I showed everyone what I was capable of, when they laughed at me. It seemed, I had important goals to reach.
I’m older. And tired. The goals faded, their importance vanished. I do not cling anymore. Today exhaustion rests on my eyelids, my back. It is the dust on my shoulders, the weakness of my hands… Still I’m desperate. Silently thrusting my claws into the fabric of my dreams, ripping them apart. I sleep a lot, than I can’t sleep a bit. Something tells me, that I should be angry…
One thing changed in those fifteen year. There is no one left to laugh at me now… No one to compare myself too… I’m alone now. Isolated from hostility and contempt.
Is this why I rip myself apart?
Is the missing other component the friction to light a spark?
Why can’t I find my own motor? Why do I need others?
Why is there no strength left in me, only the stiffness of my joints? The rigidity of my mind, the rigidity of my body. I’m slowly turning into stone without that fire.
What should I do?