My eyes stare at the page and it looks how I feel, blank. Every emotion has run its course through my body, through my mind and escaped me leaving me empty and barren. I may one day be built again, piece by piece. But until then, I'm as white and plain as the page I stare at. I long to fill its bareness with the words that travel out of my soul onto the page to make it a piece of art. I long to give you your next piece of fantasy. To allow you to get wrapped in my words and lose yourself in the magic and the art that is writing. But right now I am blank, blank as the page I stare at.
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