At first, it's all crazy, raw, overflowing passion. All you want to do is share your ideas, your secrets, basically, your whole self. You give it your all and pour out your heart and soul into every single word, every single paragraph. 

But after a while, it doesn't give you the same thrill that it once did. It becomes simple, ordinary, mundane. It becomes boring, like a routine. The same old stuff.

Every. 

Single. 

Day.

You start to hold back, give less and less of yourself and then one day, you find yourself turning your back on the one thing that you swore you loved.

I was always the type of girl who'd scribble random quotes and doodles on my journal during class and not care whether I made sense or not.
                                       
But lately, I can't seem to figure out the reason why my inspiration tank seems to be empty. I tried to blame it on med school, on how busy I was with studying that I did not have the time to write. I tried to blame other people, I figured that all the pressure and expectations were starting to phase me, and I didn't what to disappoint anyone by publishing a half-assed piece, so I decided not to write anything at all. No, this is not the story of how I had a sudden epiphany in front of a quiet lake in the middle of nowhere and then started writing again. It's quite the opposite, actually. So, how did I fall back in love with writing?

I chose to start, again. 

So if you stopped making works of art, pull out a paintbrush and pour out your heart and soul on that canvass.

If you stopped singing, sing like it's gonna make Christina Grimmie proud. 

If you stopped dancing, by all means, start dancing like nobody's watching.