I feel stuck.
In the moment, in the movement, in the shadows.
I feel stuck, mirroring the collapse.
In a funk, delayed, haunted by books and the images they throw, haunted by the notion of a work/life balance.
Haunted in crowded places, by faceless men and soulless women, by promise and potential and decay.
Their burned-out eyes, following me – where did everybody go?
That’s why I haven’t been writing much.
But I know how to break out of it.
I just have to write more.