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.