A white page is every writer's greatest enemy, that much is known, a blank canvas painted with hopes and disappointments. A new beginning An old foe Maybe if I stare at it long enough, the dark lines will start to dance, Changing Twisting Morphing into the reflection of my own thoughts. But will I like the loops my mind has forged? Maybe if I twirl my pen like a magic baton, I'll have the courage of whispering to this blank page what my heart has always ached for...
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A tired sigh escapes my lips as I throw away yet another failure. It's not that I don't like what I'm writing, but the more I re-read it, the more my own words start to haunt me. Are you sure you used us correctly? You really think that you were able to convey your thoughts perfectly? Don't you feel pathetic, re-reading us so frantically? Is that a spelling error?
"Enough!"
I stand so abruptly that my notebook falls from my lap and into a puddle waiting at the bottom of the stairs for something like this to happen. Magnificent. Cursing below my breath as one would, I hurry down the steps already dreading the guilty oozing from the dying ink.
"This yours?"
Was it the stairs or that smile that knocked the air out of my lungs? As I reach the ground, splashing in the puddle like the utter idiot that I am, I can feel a breath of fresh relief rustling my hair and easing my lungs.
"Oh my, bless you! I don't know how I would've done if it got soaked wet!"
The girl handing out the notebook to me could barely keep herself from giggling, looking back and forth from my face and the ground.
"You mean like your shoes?"
I follow her gaze. In the rush I failed to notice just how deep the puddle was... Well, goodbye my old snickers, you will be greatly missed. But I shake my head, holding that wretched part of me made of paper pages close to my chest, and I laugh with her.
"Yeah, pretty much like my shoes!"
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