Writer’s Block

November 21, 2007
Here I sit, zoning off into space.
Blank white page, staring right back at me.
My mind is racing with thoughts I wish weren’t real.
The sound of fingers against keyboards is my background music.
Write something.

I can’t.

Now I’m gazing out the window.
Snow is falling.
It’s white, just like my blank page.
My mind wanders outside with the snow and I’m walking in it.
Calm, and content.
All smiles.

I can’t.

I need to be here.
Focused, typing.

Bathroom break.

Still nothing.
My fingernails start to tap on the desk, involuntarily.
There has to be something.


Blank, white page.

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