This blank page stares at me, it's a bit intimidating. How am I supposed to know what to write, or what to say? What if everything I scribble down is complete rubbish? But, then again, what if it isn't? What if what I write is the beauty and simplicity of the world captured on a piece of paper. I'll never know unless I write. Okay, so, I'm writing. I'm writing the first thing that comes to my mind. What's the first thing that comes to my mind? Nothing comes into my mind. Nothingness erupts behind my eyes. I see nothing but black. No ideas, no dreams, no inspiration, just black. Oh paper, how you mock me! Stop smirking at me like I have no idea what I'm doing! Stop tormenting me with your nudity! I'd love to dress you, but I don't know how!
STOP!!!!!
My mind is slowly returning to its contentedness. I just want to write. Is that such a difficult thing to ask for? For words? Words to explain meaning? Words to decipher feeling? It's strange how some people can drone on and on with talk, but when it comes down to writing something, people draw a blank. Words are something so simple, but so difficult to grasp. It seems like my mind floats on images rather than words. If only writing were made of pictures. But, then again, that's the beauty of writing, to create beautiful scenes and images that nothing but words can describe.
I have a confession, for you paper. You've dwindled me down to nothing and this is all I have left to say: I would be nothing without you. Does that make you happy? Will you inspire me now? I lose myself in you. When the tip of pencil carves into you, my brain catches fire. I ignite with passion, but now, now I'm left with nothing. You've left me heartbroken. I'm all out of ideas; I feel like I've betrayed you, but I haven't, I promise! I still love you more than ever, but I just can't seem to please you. I'm going to go now, leave you for a while, I'll never forget you, I just need some time to figure things out.
As I turned from my desk and headed towards the door, I gave one last glance to the gleaming white paper that watched me as I left. I gently turned off the light and left, not knowing when I was coming back.
STOP!!!!!
My mind is slowly returning to its contentedness. I just want to write. Is that such a difficult thing to ask for? For words? Words to explain meaning? Words to decipher feeling? It's strange how some people can drone on and on with talk, but when it comes down to writing something, people draw a blank. Words are something so simple, but so difficult to grasp. It seems like my mind floats on images rather than words. If only writing were made of pictures. But, then again, that's the beauty of writing, to create beautiful scenes and images that nothing but words can describe.
I have a confession, for you paper. You've dwindled me down to nothing and this is all I have left to say: I would be nothing without you. Does that make you happy? Will you inspire me now? I lose myself in you. When the tip of pencil carves into you, my brain catches fire. I ignite with passion, but now, now I'm left with nothing. You've left me heartbroken. I'm all out of ideas; I feel like I've betrayed you, but I haven't, I promise! I still love you more than ever, but I just can't seem to please you. I'm going to go now, leave you for a while, I'll never forget you, I just need some time to figure things out.
As I turned from my desk and headed towards the door, I gave one last glance to the gleaming white paper that watched me as I left. I gently turned off the light and left, not knowing when I was coming back.
