For OnceFor once in a long time, I stare at a piece of paper and the pencil in my hand, my artist tools of choice, but I have no ideas now, no thoughts, no inspirations, for this once in a long time.Perhaps I should worry. Perhaps I'm too tired to care. Not physically, for I am still young and supposedly full of bustling strength, but mentally exhausted like an old woman battling through hardships, grasping at wisps of fading hope.The towering problems of my friends, and the one I care about most, I try to solve to escape my own battles, my own war.We all try out hardest to hang on, but I keep wondering 'how long?', 'how long will I last?' and as I ask myself, I can do nothing to brace myself from my minds inevitable reply...not long.