Quitting is never easy.
Falling into the mundane,
Living in the crevices of routine,
Now that's simple.
Not a problem.
Repetition comes like a dance.
You reside in each move,
Numb,
Mindless.
Muscle memory does all the work.
Until the music runs out.
And you stand without motion.
Without direction.
You realize you have been dancing,
For ages,
But have no idea what moves you even made.
Hollow,
Yet you have this dance.
Activivating automatically.
And as the awareness grows stronger,
That urge to repeat,
Grows dimmer and dimmer.
Until one day finally,
After ages of practice,
The music begins
Yet you refuse to dance.