I'm not sure I know what passion is anymore. I am exhausted. Constantly exhausted. My own mind and fear are my two greatest foes. Fear grabs hold and spreads roots like weeds. I manage to beat it back every so often, but like weeds, it pops up again, planting itself deep into my being. Or rather, reappearing, as it was all never really gone in the first place. It is the sole object stopping me, this self-concocted fear. Yet I can't figure how to beat it. Still working on it. Chopping the weeds everyday, in the hopes that someday, I will wake the next morning, and they will not have returned.