Snippets of conversations drifting through the wind can sometimes be cause for a deeper introspective search than one has ever taken before.

Just this morning in passing I heard a boy say "I just love writing, it's my passion", and I stopped and thought to myself quietly "what's my passion?"

...

This simple expression by a total stranger sparked a train of thought in my mind leading me down tunnels in to the very depths of my unprepared brain.

Searching for a passion

Much like the passer-by I tend to enjoy the written word.
I relish sentences,
composition,
vocabulary choice,
anything that can present ideas in a sophisticated written sense.

On the contrary, sometimes writing feels like having my eyes slowly clawed out of my head and consumed by a larger-than-life, incredible beast.

*Could such an act be my passion if only to grate on my nerves and cause me to tear out my hair when it does not occur according to my plans?