The blank page.
There is nothing more gratifying and yet nothing more daunting.
The blank page stares at you and dares you to fill it with grandiose ideas.
It yells at you to ruin its clean perfection.
It begs you to make it important, make it count for something.
It longs to be used for greatness.
It strives to be remembered as an important document in the course of human history.
It has high hopes that it falls into the hands of a gifted writer–one whose prose and tone will create beauty on its face.
The blank pages that fell into the hands of Shakespeare, Solzhenitsyn, Freud, and Fromm were pages that wore their author’s words with pride.
I long to have that affect on the blank pages I fill.
I want my blank pages to know they are important.
I desire my blank pages to feel they serve a higher purpose beyond simply collecting my thoughts.
The blank page now full.
Peace my Friends!