It didn’t happen yesterday. I lost my spark many years ago.

Back then, I knew so little about the world. I dreamed big, acted foolishly, and loved madly. Everything burned bright with possibility.

But I refuse to accept that this vibrant energy belongs only to youth. I won’t let marriage, two wonderful kids, and finding surprising excitement in a job my teenage self would’ve deemed “boring” erase who I am.

Still, something has shifted. Or maybe my core, my essence, struggles to shine through. It’s a painful truth I’ve avoided confronting, except for one rebellious seed within me – a seed that refuses to wither completely.

That seed no longer ignites sparks in my eyes. Time, with its dulling touch, has muted its light, just as it softens the sharp edges of memory. My image of myself, both in my own eyes and in the eyes of others, feels blurred, as if I’ve faded.

So here I am, searching for a way out – or perhaps, a way in. I imagine myself joining some invisible club of the damned, where others have surely fallen into this same bottomless pit.

But instead of surrendering, I feel the pull to rebel. Not violently, but vividly. I picture myself as the villain – cool, cunning, and ready to shatter the walls of an ordinary, predictable life.

My rebellion isn’t one of destruction but of fierce expression. It’s about torching the interior doubts and limitations, about allowing the wild and unruly thoughts to erupt and remind me of my unique voice.

And yet, a shadow lingers. Will this fight, too, fade with time, lost in the sands of forgetfulness? Will my rebellion be just another fleeting echo, swallowed by the same forces that stole my spark?

Or will it light something new? Something enduring?

Time will answer, but for now, the seed of rebellion remains, and I’m not ready to let it die.