I remember when I was last in a relationship I noticed I hardly dreamed in the night. The scribbles dried up, my precision blade rusted away — I didn't even bring it with me. Yet, I didn't seem to mind that I was barren and didn't create.
Now that I'm alone again — my natural state I'd think — and working with my hands again (albeit less frequently than I'd like) and reading for pleasure more, the sehnsucht is greater than ever.
I wish it were possible to have the best of both situations — perhaps to be constantly inspired by someone I love, but, for now, I'd settle for being more disciplined and devoted to making time for all the things that make me feel fulfilled.
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