Of Disenchantment

Whew. Long time, no creative juices.

Not that I call myself creative but it is what the public agreed upon as a term for pointless drivel.
As it happens, or has happened and continues to happen, I find myself stuck in one of those mental crevices which, in turn, get me emotionally knotted up. Well, not quite, as we all know how easily emotions can be silenced with a new, exciting read.
At first, my analysis was pathetically basic: “oh, it’s just an anticlimactic phase after a very good month.” It’s not.
It’s disenchantment. Chronic. Overwhelming. Present in every aspect of my little, barely-existent life. And I know that everything magnificent I know is magnificent, and that brilliance is permanent, and I see it (with so much envy) but with so little interest, and, to quote Joe Fox, “remorse inevitably follows”.
And that gets me to question so many things; the authenticity of my affection, the tolerance I have, and show, and how obvious I am in showing people that I can barely care.
But does enchantment mean gratitude? Am I by default with neither loyalty nor gratitude to everything and everyone I ever held passion -and I hold it very blindly- for? I try to look for the answer but it seems like one of those obnoxious box-within-a-box-within-a-box-within-a-box gift-wraps that lead to a potted plant, and I have zero patience for wrappers and plants.
See, I told you it was pointless drivel, you just decided to read on. There was nothing to gain and nothing to relate to– it’s okay, I understand. No one likes to rob themselves of gratitude.
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Of Disenchantment

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