There is a question I keep asking myself. Not just lately – but almost always. Why am I doing this? It’s a question you should, or at least I will ask myself about almost everything. There are so many things that are driven by needs. That drown the passion you once had, overrides the impulse to get in contact ‘with that one thing’ that burns and braids in your soul.
Why am I waking up each morning around 5am to prepare myself for work. The bowl of serial. The haunted dark under my eyes that only seems to spread as I grow older. The receding hair line and the tired ‘I’m to old for this shit’ look as my reflection scares me of the reality that grows, fester and mold around me. Becomes me.
But then there are those moments. Like a sputtering engine darting into life. Like that one hit with…
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