One piece builds on the previous in an ostensibly random pattern that just so happens to create an alluring creation or a horrifying monstrosity, and thus, the art of formation was a skill that I was given. From the earliest years, I built many things out of what seemed like useless materials. Some good, some bad, but all of them were created to enrich the ability that i owned.
As I grew, my ability took root and followed along, slowly becoming more acute. Time passed by and it continued to prosper, new things were discovered and created, and some characteristics were torn down. I began to create marvelous things from time to time and others thought of that single skill as my entire identity, while others saw through it. I was lost, a young boy without direction depending on an singular attribute.
I always lost interest on anything over an unspecified amount of time, and thus my creativity began to falter. Like a large carnivorous creature who had starved for days, it began to strike in bursts rather than the fluent ongoing ability that it had been before. I would have thoughts that were more extravagant more brilliant than ever before, but these thoughts would occur less and less, withering over time.
I began to question whether or not I would still be able to rely on this as a gift or advantage that I could use, but my ability was not gone yet. It began to give wonderful ideas for many things that would often be forgotten if not acted upon immediately, forcing me to immediately lose interest on anything that I was working on and attempt to put this idea into reality, later denying the idea due to second thoughts.
Projects would come and go, as would the ideas, making sudden revisions and adaptations that would lead to it’s downfall. Time and time again this occurred, I was a blank void with nothing to give until the last minute, in which it was already too late. People who seemed to be friends left and I felt worse about myself with every day that passed. I would occasionally lock myself in my room to try to recuperate, yet I did not prevail.
The void inside expands over the years, swallowing up my other traits like a dark green mist. I stand away from most the crowds, due to an internal exile, I’m losing my own arguments, I’m losing myself. I still have my moments, but I rely on it too greatly, and soon it may very well just fade away. As a breath exits the mouth, and evaporates into the air, all lives are short. Make the most of what you have, I tell myself, and try to be remembered for who you are, even if it was all just a decaying corpse waiting for something great.