The warm shower water ran over my chilly body; a thick frost blanketed the ground. Inspiration banged into my consciousness like it often does when the water washes away the tension of another night. My nights fluctuate between turbid dreams, prolonged periods of wakefulness and dark deep sleep.
Write about why you wrote Schicksal.
On Sunday evening the fog of an impending head cold snuffed out my optimism. The blasted thing possessed a life akin to a chemical fire retardant; lofty intention stalled.
In the fog I stumble calling uncertainly, ”Enthusiasm where are you?”
It hides away like a naughty child with the Nutella jar and a teaspoon.