Hours pass by, You've been sat there, haven't you? Staring into a void which neither exists, nor presents itself- It's just there, and it's captured your gaze. It distracts you; another session of procrastination unfolds. So many things, you could be doing them couldn't you? But for some reason, this void has drained you of any strength. You're merely a pitiful pile of ashes, and your embers a fading fast, child. You barely contain any kindling for rebirth. Only few remain to warm themselves with the little heat you give. Now and then, they prod and poke at you, hoping you'll suddenly spurt back to your former glory, to the fire they once basked in. They're scared to lose their warmth, child. It may be too late. You'll merely collapse in on yourself if you and they don't take their time; you need to gather yourself, shield yourself from the wind that threatens to topple you. Perhaps you'll become that roaring fire again, have patience.