The white space mocks me.
The black bar waits impatiently; flashing with anticipation. It judges me and the words I fail to write. It waits… taunting me to fill the white space that mocks me with the words that will change my future.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
It waits. I wait. Impatient and impotent.
Fail. Fail. Fail.
Some people look at the white space and see limitless potential. They see an endless space in which to create new worlds to exist in, new thoughts to change minds, new people to bring to life. They see opportunity.
I see more room to fail.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
I feel sick. My head is noisy. It’s cluttered and clouded with things left unsaid; words and thoughts crammed into such a small space. Such an infinitely large, yet distressingly small space. The words jumble. The thoughts mix. They become incoherent, swirling in an endless vacuum of chaos. I stare at the mocking white space, full of malice and judgement.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
The white space mocks. The black bar flashes. I wait for the words that never come, from the cluttered space that never clears, from the noisy head that never quiets.
Fail. Fail. Fail.
I sit and I stare.
Flash.
Trapped in the dust that never settles.
Wait.
Mocked and judged by the people in my mind, from the worlds I never created.
Fail.
This glass is half empty.
