Sometimes life looks like this:
An empty page never frightens me.
I rather crave it. Always have. And I’m not just talking, as a writer, about a blank piece of paper.
Do you ever start to tell someone something and then realize you’re not sure you want to be that vulnerable? Maybe you don’t want them to know that about you.
But then, at the same time, something inside you is daring you to spill it anyway.
Like the little devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other.
“No, don’t tell. And get a mint.”
“Yes, tell! It’s worth, like, twenty donuts if you do!”
What kind of devil trades in donuts? And says, ‘like’.
Don’t judge me; I haven’t slept in a month.
Do you ever wonder if you’re easily readable or transparent at certain times?
Ok, that wasn’t my point. I don’t remember my point.
My point is, what does it bring to mind, that blank page and what I began to say?
I wrote a blog post but then deleted 9/10ths of it. Can you guess what I was about to talk about? Or pretend it’s a writing prompt and tell me the strangest story possible surrounding it. Humor me…
No… Really… *HUMOR ME*