Before Pen Met Paper

I was faceless.
A blank page,
worth nothing.
A mere sillhouette,
living in a world
of color.
Whose name,
not even I
knew.

I was nothing
greater than a
coarse grain,
lost in the
deserts of time.
The sandstorm
carried me where
it liked; I had
no say.

I was nothing.
Not even a wall,
whose purpose is to stand.
Not even a shadow,
whose purpose is to
shade.
Not even a rock,
whose purpose is to
be.

I wasn't.
I didn't exist.

Until pen
met paper,
and my life
began.