The Lost Voice

I can hear a voice. Calling out to me from a distance. The voice seems familiar. I recognize it. The unbridled passion. The unadulterated happiness. The absolute contentment.

The distance. That is something I cannot judge. It seems easy to reach out to. But nearly impossible to cross that distance. A few years probably. A decade, maybe.

The voice is drawing me closer to it, showing me a world that once used to be. The things I used to do. The hours I spent pouring myself into the things I absolutely loved. The moments that consumed me.

I see flickers of that passion now. But mostly embers of what it used to be. How did it come to be this?
Where did I lose myself? At what point did I leave that side of me behind? What am I now? Do I recognize this version of me? What does my passion stand for now? What would you remember me for if you knew me today?

That voice calls out to me again. Shakes me out of my contemplation. I must take action. I must take the first step towards it. What built me once, will build me again. I must create. It does not matter what. As long as I keep creating. And in this process, I shall find me again.

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