Sluggish, Stale, a bucket of Water

Stagnant. That’s the feeling.
When everything boils over–when the time comes to find those hidden feelings buried under the mud–there’s a familiar feeling. And it’s not stagnation.
There’s a sense of rebirth. And, a sense of hope.
A different type of hope. One more akin to a passion to continue. A fight to push forward so far outside the skull that there’s an explosion.
Sifting through the brush, there will always be more. Additions to disorders, reaching for the chance to continue and roam.
Surgeon, lawyer, communications, biology, physics–
Where do I go when writing tells me to–

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