There comes a point, sitting in the darkness alone, where time ceases to mean anything. Deadlines are years away, and suddenly the shadows seem familiar, like they're the same old companions from nights long past filled with regret and that sad, furious despair. Nothing happens now, but the wakefullness now that the spirit is no longer fully strong is harder to bear, and the urge to sleep and dream and forget is so strong. Instead, I stare at the screen, trying to remember why it is I feel this, and when it was I first felt it, and why it is my eyes sting with tears for the person I used to be.
Maybe I'm just getting too old for this all-nighter shit. Or maybe I've got too much to do these days without really accomplishing anything. Or maybe, in those younger nights, I gave so much that now I have so little left when I need it. Maybe.
Maybe, I can learn to get it back.