The blank page welcomes me,

The pen feeling like home between my fingers.

I savor the moment before the ink begins to flow.

This is the beginning.

 

Every character I had met,

Just a shadow, or a phantom in my mind,

Came to be in this same way.

They emerge as my hand moves frantically,

As if I could lose them if I even hesitated for a moment.

I only stop once they stare back at me,

Their form as clear as if they are sitting in front of me.

I smile at my creation.

They smile back at me,

Glad that I have taken them out of the shadows of my forgetfulness.

 

Much like an infant brought into the world,

They began to breathe, cry, and even bleed 

With this same beginning. 

And yet their stories are as diverse as the stars,

Just waiting for one person to look up and marvel at what they had to tell.

 

Our conversation are scarred upon these simple pages,

I visit them often.

Its like meeting them all over again.

Our first encounters are evident as I awkwardly try to understand them, 

Which is quite common with any new acquaintances. 

But after many conversations, the bond is clear as I also begin to

Breathe, cry, and bleed along with them.

 

I am thankful for this simple blank page,

For it gives me the opportunity to meet the characters in my head. 

It has given me different skins and emotions to slip into

And perhaps,

I have learn more about myself along the way.