A blank page. Just empty. No words, nothing.
It’s the scariest thing… because that page doesn’t care who you are or what you wrote, doesn’t care how many people are waiting to read your words… it just stays empty until you write something.
It’s also a reminder that there’s always room for a fresh start. You can create and invent. You’re free. Maybe sometimes I see poetry when there’s nothing there, but to me a blank page always means that I get to try to achieve more. I can try to be better, and I can simply forget everything I wrote before. Because it doesn’t matter.
Funny thing that you’re the only one who can fill a blank page with the words you want. Arrange them how you want or feel. It’s your blank page, your canvas, your world. And it’s never going to write itself.
You’re the only one who can write your stories into existence, and, God, how great it feels to know that.