These past few days have been a little demotivating in regards to creating content. It's nothing serious, just some physics working itself out. I've exerted a lot of energy in a short amount of time on Hive and I'm riding the wave downward, as it were.
It might surprise you to learn that I'm a creature of habit and before Hive I wasn't really doing much. Even doing nothing creates its own momentum that takes time to change.
Slumps are just a natural part of changing a habit, I guess.
I tried my hardes to stick to the rules and to not re-write my stuff, though I still ended up re-wrtiting it and expanding it a bunch. I frustrate myself. Yesterday I spent way too long re-working what ended up being a fairly sub-par post, I think.
Anyway - here's my entry for: 'Purple'
Time is a burglar and a patient one.
It waits for you; watching for when you let your guard down, for when you leave your doors unlocked.
Night after night it robs you. Your strength, your vitality, and all the things you build yourself into are for-the-taking. So it takes.
It comes for everything in a slow, methodical pilfer.
What scares me is how blind we are to it.
You don't know your memories are missing until you need them.
That realization brings a cold panic, a sudden gap to stop you in place. 'When did I forget? Why don't I remember their name? A birthday? A past girlfiend?'
When did time steal your first kiss? Your first job? Your best friend who you thought you'd never forget?
Why is it that when you remember your mother all you can recall is the color purple?
Is it because that was the color of her bath robe? You know, the one she wore every night until High School.
Or was it middle school? Actually, it was pink. Pink was her favorite color. Or was it green?
Why can't I remember?
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