Fingers to the keyboard as I attempt to create a masterpiece of words. This is how it is and how it has always been, but something is different now. The words, sentences, paragraphs, are absent and empty as the backspace key obtains more attention than any of the others. I am digging through myself, trying to find again the beauty that I used to carve my work of art before, but I seemed to have misplaced it.
I sit, unmoving at the realization of what I have lost. No matter what I write, it is as good as if I had written nothing. The art in my writing is in some far corner of my mind, gathering dust as it sits, unused and fading.
It is only a matter of time before it has withered away to nothing. If I do not find it soon, beauty and creation will not be the only things that will have become lost. I will have become lost as well.
YOU ARE READING
Speculations of an Artistic Mind: Jane's Thoughts
Non-FictionEveryone has thoughts. These ones are mine.
