It feels heavy in your hand. You can barely keep it upright as you force aching body to follow the intent. Sweat cumulates on your back - it's hot, but still, you shiver. Muscles cramps, and you barely manage not to let go of the only tool you have left. You need to end this, you think, quick.
The need is overwhelming, refilling the depleting strength. You hardly even started. With shuttering breath, you fight against your doubt, hoping that adding one more to a rising amount of mistakes will not make a difference. Deep inside, however, there is a cold feel of shame. Knowledge that you will never manage. It's too much. Even after years of honing your skills, you still know nothing. Day ends. After countless tries, you fail.
You feel drained. Sleep calls to you like a siren's song.
This is it. You give up. Others would have to make it happen. Only if anyone ever finds the importance of your mission. The one that resonates your entire being and is the reason you endured for so long. Lost so many hours, days, nights. You hope your previous attempts were just enough to leave a message loud enough to infect them with the same passion you once held. Maybe you will find fires of your will to burn bright once more in the future. Maybe you will try again. For now, you lay down your equipment.
Before you lose your consciousness, you manage to mutter your last thought out loud:
"I fucking forgor how to draw"