college drains you. they don't tell you that beforehand. 

it's a time of productivity, yes. but more than that, it is a time of struggle. you're bouncing between burnout and caffeine overcompensation. if you have a spark, you run. you run and run. and then, because you didn't ration it, because you just ran, you hit burnout even faster. 

we gotta finish the book. We gotta, we gotta, we gotta. I have to. But how can I when words will not come? How can I when the book I truly want to write has burned itself out and vanished? All the stories are gone, hidden somewhere I can't find them. I wander around through the darkness, trying so hard to find the one I can't quite see. My words are hidden.

If I never write again, am I truly an author? If my ideas are dead...who am I? Was writing something fun I did, that now is little more than a chore? Will my ideas ever flood in again like they did when I was younger?

Tired. Burnt out. These are words that matter. For some people, writing is a job. For me, it was a joy. But suddenly, I was tired, and keeping my own head up became the only thing I was capable of. Then getting those grades became far more important. And now...what? As the world grows wearier and I sigh with exhaustion?

I just want to write something that matters. As I delve deeper into great literature through my college, I realize that stories need to mean something. They need prose you can analyze, symbolism that burns, lines that bring tears to your eyes. No wonder a lot of modern stuff feels empty. No wonder I can read a book with a perfectly pleasing plot and it still feels hollow.

That's what I want to write. I want to write the next book that means something. I want my stories to be full of grit and meaning and grief and symbolism and a story that sticks with you long after you finish. It needs to mean something. It needs to not be hollow.

And that's a tall order, especially for a twenty-year-old college student.

So I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to pull myself along. I'm going to struggle, but I will write again. I will write many more words. And they will be beautiful.

And I hope someday, people can read them.