My love for stories has faded, writing is no more than a pointless hobby. Spew out stories, nonsense, for others to read. For what? Enjoyment? Contentment? I don’t know. I just write, I write, and that’s all just wasted time. Then you’re told, “what’s it even about?” Okay, valid. And more, “What even is this?” I’ll question that too. Writing, doing anything, is not as simple as it seems. I have not taken time to try anymore. I’m just staving away. A burnt out soul. With no more creativity.