Wednesday, October 1, 2014
A blank page. Full of potential. I'm afraid of messing it up. I have thoughts to be put into words, but I sit here thinking them and never giving them tangible space because of the perfection of the white page. I type out a complete paragraph. Then erase it all. It doesn't make sense. Or express what I was thinking. It's a hard job, you know, to condense thoughts, shapes, colors and pictures into words. Time is slipping away. Precious time that I've carved out of my day. Now I'll have less sleep tonight, and I'll have a blank page to show for it. But really, the quiet hour gives voice to my thoughts, and I'm able to hear them. Maybe soon, I'll be able to put them into words.
Posted by Liz at 12:16 AM