आशमां से परे

And the truth is, I’m tired. Exhausted. Bored. Burdened. It’s something that feels more permanent now, as if this weight will stretch all the way to the end. That’s what makes it hard. It’s not that it's difficult today, but that tomorrow doesn’t seem different either. There’s no escape. Just a quiet, lingering sense that this is how it’s going to be. I keep losing myself. I have done it so often that it no longer feels unfamiliar to me. But what has changed is the passion, the passion I once had. It is gone. It no longer runs through my veins, no longer burns in my head or blood. What remains is something colder. frozen blood. Still. Sometimes I wish I could just sleep... for a year, two, ten, a hundred, It doesn’t really matter. There’s a kind of heaviness, a weariness in my mind, as if I haven't slept for years. The path I have walked so far doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere. And when I look ahead, no "two roads diverging in a wood" that one could take. Nothing. ...