I will never know what on Earth could be considered more maddening than a blank piece of paper. Does anybody else plan out a strategic work of exquisiteness and intellect that will elucidate all of life’s twisted mysteries and beautiful truths? A piece of work so euphoric and revealing, it will cause even the most cynical of minds to rethink any solicitous opinion or thought they have ever conjured. Then, as soon as the fine tip of your pencil is hungrily released onto the vast canvas, the wall every writer dreads begins to stack its bricks one by one upon your design. Stacking until every last word has vanished from what was once the baby you were nurturing and developing inside of you. When all is gone, you still endeavor to recreate the work as if it was the sandcastle that your brother destroyed. Yet, your crumbling, rebuilt tower does not quite measure up to the one that stood before. The realization that never again will those words or opinions traipse through your conscious mind in the same order feels to be equivalent to a heavy blow to the head. Not a single person will know of the marvel that was created as a part of you. After all is said and done, and your loss has been mourned. Can you visualize what your next effort towards a work of art will shape itself into? This.