There are some days, long tired and tiring days, uninspiring and uninspired days when doing what you love, what brings you joy, becomes a chore, a bother. What lifts you up turns into an obligation, from “I want to” to “I have to” and “I need to”.
Sometimes, these days pass quickly. Sometimes, they never pass. You remain in a funk, seeming to move through life like you are walking in molasses. All the flavour of your world falls away, leaving what stands before you dull.
Even in this state, time tears past you, carrying the very life you seem to no longer be able to hold on to. Your weak fingers can barely grasp the tendrils sprouting about you. Coloured gray, you long to keep your eyes closed, hoping that it is a dream. Even as you fall asleep, closing your eyes involuntarily, you know there is nothing to wake up to. This is your existence.
And think you unique, your mountains new. Alone and apart. Others, Sisyphuses of self, the ones who have dragged themselves up and over, are just beyond where the dip goes down again, just out of sight. You will be surprised at how many you are, how patterned and predictable. Sharers of burdens, keepers of lost causes and ghostly worries that silhouette minds in fear, none sadder or saner.