Looking for something, anything

I looked over my first post and found an awkward phrase. Other than a terrible sentence and rooftop dramatics that have been left behind for more than a year, revisiting my first few posts also showed me the hopeless romantic that I was more than a year ago. Naive and broken me. Hopeful and wishful me. Where did that me go? Several times I've wondered where did my passion and flow go, and several times I've fooled myself into thinking that I got it back.

The massive dark wood dresser that was only good for piling crap over crap and marking the territory of half my room, was finally dished out. Although I'm glad that this burden is no longer around to swallow my space, I also can't help but stare at the empty corner. And I guess, just like my room, the rude chunk of my own passion was removed from me. But I was able to feel without sorrow. But I'd rather strive for that happiness again than later grow tired of finding it in every common corner.
It's been a while since I've changed my reasoning. I don't really know where to go from here. I'm scared to take risks again. For filling the gap within myself and my room.