Sometimes I think I have lost the will to write anything on the pages of my notebook.
Sometimes I feel drained out of the motivation I used to have or maybe it’s because of the inspiration that I lost a long time ago.
I read one day about how writers tend to seek misery and sadness in their lives in order to give their writings an aesthetic and authentic feeling. A feeling that makes the reader lives every moment, laugh or cry with you.
As Colleen Hoover calls them in « It ends with us »: «naked truths», maybe this is one of my naked truths; I need something new to write about, I don’t feel passionate anymore or inspired by anything around me.
This actually makes me sad, I missed the feeling of grabbing my pen excited to write down all of my love, my happiness or my pain and spread them in form of curved letters all over the pages.
I am just losing interest in everything around of me, and I desperately want to find back the thing that used to give a bright touch to my days, the poetic and artistic way of seeing every aspect of my daily life, that’s what I want back. Otherwise, my life is just another person’s monotonous routine. It’s dull, full of boredom and dejection.
