Look at you, sitting there. Blinking. You’re daring me to defile your crisp, white page, aren’t you?
Look at your one straight line, mocking me. You look back at me in defiance. I hear you! Your taunts.
You don’t think I’ve got it in me, do you?
Some days, your constant, unwavering blinking is enough to drive me mad.
On these days, you bar the door, unyielding, to the bliss that waits for me beyond.
Then there are those enchanted days that I fall, head first, right past you. I enter through the door that you hold the key to so tightly. I pass the blinding white of your page, where the release of the written word is all…
Time stands still for me in these moments. I am transported to the corners of my imagination. Or I wander through the fields of my past; where nothing and no one exists unless I want them to.
This power is what I thirst for, beg for, need.
You bar my way.