The blank word document stares defiantly back at me, the cursor blinking mockingly in my face. Inviting me to write and flow, and my mind, like the whiteness itself was bland, dull and ultimately suffocating attached with sickly violets of hesitation.
White, is a suffocating shade. Enveloping and devouring everything in its cleanness. So pristine, so prestigious and so very precocious, like a pampered child it refuses to even loosen up the slightest bit. I could feel the start of a headache, thrumming softly like heartbeat in my temple and the constellation falls into stars once more.
It doesn’t matter now, does it?
I have words, an imperfection perfection slashing across the blank canvas, jagged and ripped.
O K ,
b e c a u s e n o w I t h a s b e e n b ro k e n