Blank page.

Clean slate. 

Just a cursor stationed, flashing.

In a sea of white pixels, 

Ready for my masterpiece.

Everything started with that blank page,

That empty roll of paper,

Waiting for something.

Anything,

To save it from this agonizing blankness.

The nothingness that screams,

Nothing, for there are no words. 

It is just biding its time until something,

someone,

pours their emotion,

their soul.

Their entire being onto the page.

Make it something. 

Make it worthwhile. 

Then send it away, for someone else to find.

The scrap of you that is left when you leave this mortal coil.

And then they may be inspired,

Just like you to pour themselves unto the page. 

And so we all live on.