Muse

The fervor has fizzled.

The enthusiasm to write has started to slowly die off, and this is consequently evident in my posts - all the recent boring nothingness and unimaginative rantings.

I would liken my writings at the moment to a can of carbonated drink left overnight and no longer gives that burst of zangy taste you get when it was first opened. What i have to offer right now is just stale, nasty sugared water. And really, who in their right minds would want that?

Sometimes, I still feel the urgent need to write if only to slightly irrigate the arid land of that literary part of my brain. I might start with a short sentence (and not necessarily even a good one) hoping to come up with something beautiful and flawless with each word i type. Instead, again and again I find myself trailing off for no reason towards the path of ugliness.

So I will refrain from writing. For your sake, if not my own. 

At least for now.

p/s: With all that's happening in the world, i find that writing about the banality of my life makes me more acutely aware of its insignificance. Not good.