i talk about my past a lot.

because i don't have anything else to talk about.

people ask me simple questions, like, "what is your favorite color?"

i never have an answer.

regardless of how the conversation starts, it always ends with me talking about my life.

my parents. my siblings. myself.

how bleak it all has been.

now, even though my life is full, and wonderful, 

i have nothing else to talk about.

i know who i am, 

but i have no identity.

if you ask me what i enjoy doing, secretly i have no idea, so i'll respond in sarcasm.

or, i'll probably say, "i work. a lot."

i don't know what i enjoy doing, because i gave up on everything that brought me joy.

and even though the things that held me down, no longer have control over me,

i'm too busy now, too busy trying to survive.

i feel as though i don't have time to find something to enjoy.

but sitting here, writing this, i realize that i'm wrong.

i do enjoy certain, i guess i don't spend enough time doing them.

things like playing zelda, and reading, and longboarding, and hiking.

so i guess i return to the dilemma.

i don't make enough time for myself.