Blinding whiteness

Pin It My fingers rest upon the keyboard tonight. The cursor blinks incessantly in front of me. It’s taunting me…daring me to write.

I look at all of that white space. It seems so daunting.

So vast.

So empty.

It waits for my words to fill it, to make it become real. So, I write…my fingers groping blindly onward; reaching for the keys that will sound an orchestra of words at my touch.

I play them slowly at first, as if trying on a new pair of shoes. They feel comfortable…it is in this moment that I find peace.

The cursor still blinks as my fingers begin to dance back and forth…feeling the rhythm of the keys before me. Explosions of words now appear where once there was nothing.

As I pause in somber tranquility, the cursor blinks onward. However, it is no longer taunting me…but instead beckoning me onward…instructing me to write until I have squeezed out the final thoughts of which I am capable this eve.

I stand back and gaze at the once-white canvas stretched before me, now arrayed with a multitude of colorful expression.

Tonight I am the artist, the musician, and the call of the muses has been answered.

I am finished.