As I sit among the empty white pages, my mind racing with ideas. I have to stop and think......
Why oh why am I here right now. Is there not a cloud I could be perching upon? Is my life as empty as those blank white pages? Am I nothing more than a meaningless speck set upon the ground. Am I filling my potential as I sit here now?
What is potential? The dictionary states it is the capability someone has to accomplish something. Is it nothing more? As I sit here now, thinking.... There has to be more to it. But there is nothing, because my mind goes as blank... Blanker then those empty white pages.
As I sit here now I began to think... If the creatives' and imaginatives' minds go blank, will they die? They will be merely in the way. Useless. Forgotten... They no longer have potential. They have lost the meaning of life. What else is there to do for them. Won't Death pay them a visit and ask, so deviously kind, if they would join him?
As I sit here now. I notice I am living my life to its fullest potential. I am curious. Wondering. Isn't that my job? To dream.
Yet as I sit here now I see a crow land on my sill, and Death has arrived. He asks, too politely, if I would go with him.
Naturally, I wanted to scream, but all I did was nod and take his outstretched hand.
That was years ago. And I sit with Death looking at my spot by the window, wondering... If I said no, would I still be sitting there? Just as I had sat there before...
