I Feel Empty Inside

And I've been trying to feel something for over a decade now. I write music every day, as often as I can. It used to be my passion. And I suppose somewhere, deep down, it still is. At this point, however, I no longer write to please myself or anyone else; I write in the hopes that somewhere between the chords or the melodies, I'll feel even the smallest twinge of love, or affection for life again. But it's become appallingly obvious that in the end, nothing really matters. There are worse ways to pass the time I suppose...