Why is this page open?
Why am I here?
What's going on?
Why am I so suddenly inspired?
After staring at my ceiling for so long
After staring at my blank screen for the same amount of time
I wonder how so suddenly, my fingers fly over the keyboard.
I write for inspiration.
But where is this inspriation coming from?
But how can I possibly create whatever I'm doing now, when I have nothing?
I write because images envelope my mind, because I like to create.
I write so I can literally put into words what myself and others are thinking.
But in this moment, it seems as though I write through nothing.
Sometimes a blank canvas can hold so many colors in it.
Sometimes nothing can inspire something.