I was going to spill all of the details, but I feel like this poem kind of sums up how I'm feeling at the moment.
Now or Never?
When did I become so timid,
that I could not face the ocean with bare skin,
and a brave heart?
When did I become so lazy that I could not bear to move,
even just to take up a pen, and jot down verse on paper?
When did I become so weak,
that even a breath would have the strength to toss me into autonomy,
with the brittle leaves of a somber autumn,
skittering wherever the cruel winds might take me?
When did I succumb to the careless feet of a dying season?