Exhaustion.

I sat down at a blank page today, and for all that’s happened this past week, something held me back from understanding what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, what I’ve needed to feel. I just felt…tired.

What happened to the idealist? The writer? The dreamer?

I can feel my conscience slipping, in exactly the way I predicted.

To push myself from this, I am going to make something beautiful tonight.