There are days when I miss you. You were the one full of dreams and ambition and need to kill the world, or make the world keel. You are not the same anymore. Full of doubt, full of need to validate yourself against what others have to say, dwelling on the words, quotes, pulling notes out of your hidden pocket, insecure as you can be.
There was a time when you were quiet, not saying anything for you were afraid, measuring words, deleting them, controlling them, shifting them, spacing them as need be. Now, vocal as you are, it seems futile, for you can't tap your feet with the times, eschewing nails (for they are a pain when you type) as you have walked too far down a path which seems to be familiar to others, and yet is not remotely what you are, on a road better as less travelled as it can be.
The dreams and hopes and flights seem to evaporate into the cumulus, a cumulative accumulation of what you've learnt, they cloud your judgement, trap you into your future, rain doubts, drain hope. And it's not a future less traveled, it's as done to death as it could be.
Sometimes I wonder how you became so emotionless. Sometimes I wonder how you can go through the motions. Once upon, the very notion of a motion put you into a fit of love or rage or hunger or anger. Now you look straight through life and death, guiltless or wallowing as the case may be.
As I said, though double the size, you're not half the person you used to be.