that used to feel things fully.
Back when laughter came easy,
when music sounded alive,
when my dreams had color
instead of instructions,
when even my words
carried passion whenever I spoke.
Now everything feels routine—
wake up, work, survive the day,
pretend I’m still connected
to the things I once loved.
The passion left quietly.
No goodbye speech.
No slammed doors.
Just a slow disappearance
I didn’t notice
until everything started turning gray.
I stare at old hobbies
like strangers I used to know.
Pick them up for a moment,
then put them right back down
because my heart no longer reaches for them
the way it used to.
And happiness—
that’s become something distant.
Like hearing people laugh
from another room
while I stand outside the door
trying to remember
what was so funny.
I keep telling myself
maybe I’m just tired.
Maybe this feeling will pass.
Maybe one morning
I’ll wake up
and life will feel alive again.
But right now,
I’m just existing
in the space
between who I was
and whoever I’m becoming
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