"I need to organize my life", she said multiple times throughout her existence. She had lost all creative drive in her life despite creating ads, flyers, and even a website. She felt as if she could gain it back once she had completed everything on her to do list. Yet, she still looked on wearily at her endless summer list, the fruit of hopeless dreaming and longing for the freedom of summer during the dreaded days of the forgotten semester. Everyday seemed the same. She had forgotten the feeling of potential. Just as newton had said that bodies in motion would stay in motion, and bodies at rest would stay at rest, she found herself somewhere between motion and rest in an unchanging scenario each day. Her focus shifted, and somewhere in there the excitement, the potential died. She was a shell of her previous self, and found no contentment in the things that used to pique her interest. Unpainted canvases remained unpainted and the words in her mind retreated so quietly that she only realized they were gone when she tried to call upon them. She felt betrayed that they had left her, but had she left them first? Her written voice had failed. Only until then did she realize the flame, her vibrant colouring, had somehow vanished. She now operated as a robot and noted that the reason she felt empty was because maybe she wasn't truly living.
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