I sit here blank. The blue lines, so empty, So bare. My mind races with ideas to fill them, But nothing sticks. Melody lacks in my speech. The paper waits, still. Waiting for the words to be scratched upon it. Itβs a blank canvas and my mind is the artist attempting to splash creativity in its most perfect form. The weight of the world is on my shoulders, causing me to slouch in my seat. Exhale. Thereβs nothing to say. Maybe I will fill that paper another day.