Alarm goes off. I reluctantly climbed out of bed to turn off the obnoxious noise. There is thirty minutes to get ready for the day. I rub my eyes tiredly. Sleep is never restful nowadays. It feels like I'm a phone being used and charged at the same time. It's just enough to go by without dying.

I shower. I get dressed. I check the time. It's time to go to class. The moment I step put of my apartment, it feels like deja vu. There is a dry breeze and very little sun. I turn on my daily playlist, but the beat sounds staler than usual.

Next thing I know, I'm in front of my class. My feet seemed to have moved on its own like routine. An exasperated sigh leaves my lips, as I entered the room of my Monday course.

My phone buzzes. It's 6:30pm. I've gone through all my courses for today. I tiredly shuffle back home with only the thoughts of work I would have to do tomorrow. The people that I pass by seem to be in their own worlds. I guess the same could be said about me.

I open the door to my apartment, and a gut wrenching feeling tears through me. However, it wasn't like a clean cut or immediate hit.

It felt like being trapped in an empty room with the light slowly being swallowed away by the darkness. Leaving with you only a sense of no escape.

I drop all my belongings and turn on the computer. It has been a huge source of healing for my grim moments. Then why do I feel less and less satisfied each time I log on?

The games that used to make me feel better don't anymore. I find myself reaching to open my favorite game, but I end up staring at the screen for hours.

Bored? Sad? Angry? Happy? I don't know anymore. I want to feel something strongly, but everything seems fake or forced when it happens.

Now I'm looking at the stories I've created. There lies a passion I fear I'll never get to see again.

All I see now in these drafts is an empty person. No passion. No love. No hate or laziness.

Just a void trying to put something into nothingness.