The most brutal realisation was realising that the exact thing that used to wake me up at 4 AM with pure excitement now just feels like a chore that drains my soul.
I didn't just wake up one day and choose malice, rather it was a slow, agonising burn where my obsession became an obligation while the magic got completely strangled by routine, misaligned expectations and betrayal.
It actually hurts me to look at it now because every single glance is a sharp reminder of a passion that used to define who I was, but has now rotted into pure resentment.
I don't even recognise the person I used to be when I loved it so much.
And honestly?
The heavy weight of that lost spark feels a thousand times heavier than the simple burden of just moving on.
Embarrassing.
Dane.
