I gaze at the page a little longer and it stared back blankly. It incites me to write, like talking to me, and saying ‘come on; write something, I look better with words’.
‘I can’t, I am sad and distressed.’ I said.
‘Then write, sad and distressed.’
‘Are you mad?’ now it’s making me angry too.
‘Just write like you always do. Take your pen and put it on me and write the first thing came to your mind.’
‘I can’t write.
I am sad.
I am distressed.
I am writing this because I am sad.
I am writing this because I am distressed.’
A smile clock in from the corner of my lips. It’s definitely looking prettier. It’s no more a blank page and no more blank stares. I painted it with my words. What are looking at me now is me.