Empty pages of notebook paper stare at me. They give me a gloating look, teasing and enticing me to scribble. My hands begin to sweat, my fingers tingle at the thought of what I could do to those empty pages. My mind is screaming "they need words!" Yet, my eyes can only stare. I dream of writing for days on end. Non-stop pen movements, gliding across the faint blue line, pouring out sentences of emotion. My arm and brain work together to expel the stories streaming through my brain as the tip of the pen explodes with thousands and thousands of letters that come together to form words, sentences, and tales. I can do damage in only an hour's time, and I can only imagine what would happen if I had my whole life to author all of my imaginative thoughts.

I squeezed these out in 30 minutes today:

Blank page. Blank feeling. Will there ever be healing?
Dry wind. No rain. Forever enduring pain.
Find the help. Find the Cure. Do not say unless you're sure.
Ease the burden. Date the Age. Erase the marks from the page.
Cut it open, what you're seeing, take away the feeling.
Make it blank. Make it absent. Forever to repent.
Because there can be no healing,
without a blank page. Without a blank feeling.

Hello stars, how have you been?
It has been a long time, my friend.
How are the heavens? How is our God?
Are you pleased with all that you saw?
I pray real hard for all things dear,
my simple "hello" at least you hear.
Although it's a miss, I carry you 'round.
Hoping you can see every sight, every sound.
The absence of voice is difficult to bear,
but I keep faith that somewhere you are near.
I stare at the stars expressing my dreams,
hoping you'll join them as real as they seem.
I wish you well, the warmth in my heart,
for I know you are with me, never to part.

Happy writing :)

- Shirley