the summer was mild. hauntingly parallel to the recent months i’ve spent surviving here. not living, just surviving. i always remember the days that i’ve lived, and wish i could forget the days that i’ve survived. summer here is usually spent escaping the heat, finding a cool place of repose. but this summer was different. each day was unremarkably indistinguishable from the next. each morning trapped in a cycle of monotony. alarm, work, rinse, lather, repeat. there was always an adventure that came along with dodging the summer’s intensity. but, the heat was gone. the spark was gone. my spark was gone. and with no spark, comes no heat. no fire. no passion. and if you’re not passionate, what do you live for? i sometimes get lost in the idea that i am no longer living for a passion, but yet the idea of a passion that i once had. every prospect of a viable spark is quickly extinguished by something, or someone, and the wheel continues spinning. but this wheel seems to have become a sphere that i’ve trapped myself in. and with every step, i continue to thrust the sphere forward. the momentum grows and i’m struggling to keep up with my own feet racing below me.

fall is near. and i don’t know if i’m referring to the season.