The Blank Page
The strange feeling of a blank sheet that plagues me. It gawks at my soul mocking its bareness that somehow resembles the purity I miss. It could be anything. A stable foundation for the next best poetry, a world renowned writer’s next big novel or an artist’s next masterpiece. It is the ‘next’ for so many. Its corner is so sharp and the surface so smooth. Each letter, or stroke engraved has its own story. The blank page with its entire soul full of life The life it gets from others. I resonate with the blank page. The helplessness, without whom no one would pick you. The meaning given by others and the reckless abandonment you receive if the world desires so.
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The blank page is me and it haunts me.
