Hello, blank page.
Some people might think that I fear you, but I don’t.
What I fear is me judging myself for being incapable of coming up with something to write about when I already decided I would sit down to do it.
You? Well, you are just a welcoming blank page. You are so ready to receive when I am finally ready to give, like a dog quietly and patiently looking at his owner, ready to engage when he is ready to play.
I have a lot to say. I imagine every person does. But some days are harder than others for transforming thoughts into words.
There are days where my thoughts are too entangled to be deciphered. It’s like having shards of glass strewn all over the floor and amidst the mess, there is a piece of diamond that you are supposed to see. Even if I manage to see it, I’d have to tread carefully to pick it up, my bare feet enduring every step.
Then there are days where there are seemingly no thoughts. I say seemingly because, well, that’s simply impossible. I cannot be a functioning human being without having at least a few thoughts pulsing up there at any given moment. And frankly, even though I know deep down that any thought is worth transforming into words, I hold myself back because I also know that a person who says everything that comes to mind is not looked upon favourably by others. We label those people insane, and I’d rather filter myself than appear insane. So those are days with seemingly no thoughts — there are thoughts, just none that passed the filter.
Also, there are days where weaving words from thoughts is hindered by a pain somewhere - my neck, my wrist, my jaw, but also my head or perhaps my heart. These are the days where I’d rather lay down than sit up and engage.
Some days… well, there are more reasons than you know I could list.
Is there a point I’m trying to make? No. But that is not a problem for you, is it? It’s merely a problem I’m creating for myself.
You be you, blank page, and I’ll work on me.