The Life of a Premature Metro Goddess

What the fuck happened to passion. What happened to the excitement of everything, the newness in the moments? When did it all stop, where did it all go. Its been this way for so long I can't even identify when I fell over the cliff but I know I fell. But in falling I don't even recall if I reached out to catch the leg, did I tumble or slide. There no signs of scraped knees, no cuts and bruises, but I know I fell. I can feel the hurt. Even though I don't remember, I can sense the scars. The vast canyon that was created in my soul when there's no one there to pull you up, when there's no one there to light the way, when there is no one to look for you. When you are just looking for yourself, but the reflection in the mirror isn't even the same.  Oh God, who is she?!  ...and then you think...   What the fuck happened to passion?

Typing, typing, typing. This whole process seems so foreign to me, and yet I know that I'm extremely competent in the field. I used to be a writer; I know that, it is documented here. I used to sparkle, and held an unwavering optimism, I used to shine, and be breathtaking all because I felt like the world around me sparkled, it inspired unwavering optimism, it shined and was breathtaking...oh how did I come so far. So far from the girl I used to be, the girl she was meant to be, all of her hopes, all of her dreams snuffed out like a short lived flame. She thought she'd fly, she thought her words would matter, she cherished the brightness of her future, she cherished that something within her self that I'm not even sure that I can identify anymore. She is miles apart from me, she's just the girl I used to be and it went so fast it's almost like it hasn't happened at all.