Maybe I have matured,
maybe I have outgrown writing stories,
maybe I have buried even the thought of creative writing
beneath the disgusting idea of education
- so utilitarian, and functional.

I grieve the loss of creativity in my head.
I used to think that it will always be around the corner,
that these skills will probably stick around.
Unfortunately, I have grown enough to realize that incrementally,
what little skills of mine shall soon leave my feeble body
before I even know it,
simply because I have forgotten to use them altogether.

I don't know where to begin from here.
I don't even know what to write next.
Sadly, I don't even know what to write for my fictional characters,
and just like me,
they are stuck in a havoc of confusion and unfinished stories.
Just like me,
they are lost in a fictitious land where there's no way forward
Just like me,
my stories stare at the vast darkness and wonder...
When?
Why?

And just like this poem...