My mind is blank. It’s like a blank page waiting to be filled, or emptied of nothingness. I can see some dots, even a comma here and there, some words nicely rounded by the pen, but no real content, no meaning. It’s just empty.
Sometimes I wish human kind would have thought of inventing a better word for nothingness. It’s too plain, it’s too boring, it’s unpleasant to the eyes. Have you ever noticed that whenever you are trying to describe happiness, you have too many words from which you can choose, but when depression or torment of the soul comes along, all the words feel emptied of their content. There is no good word to express our sorrow. There are no dots or commas that can understand our pain. There is just nothing and its emptiness. There is you. There is…
When you are touched by your own guilt, your own failure, when despair kisses your forehead, you know the magic word that will push you through the exit door. You just know. It’s a different word for each of us, for some it may not even be a word, but a gesture, a smile, a frown, a kiss… You know when to stop, when to jump, when to risk it. You know and yet… you are still doing it: drowning in that big pool of sticky mud that drags you down and turns you into mush.
You are your own sorrow, happiness, regret, product. You built it, you rule it, you can destroy it. You are anything you want to make yourself be and still… blank.
