Any other page I’ve written was easily marked by blue or black ink.
Those pages contain thoughts that I wasn’t able to vocalize.
My mouth wouldn’t do justice so my right hand made sense of them.
As if my words were a deer, they leaped from my thought-filled mind and
onto a page where they adjusted to a new environment.

But now, my mind is just as blank as printer paper.
Perhaps I’ve written so many of my most concealed thoughts that I can’t write anymore.
Writer’s block?
Or maybe my thoughts are scattered to the east and west to gather themselves to make sense.
Somehow.

When they make sense, perhaps I could write about love.
I haven’t had it in what feels like forever.
I miss weekend dates, I miss midnight conversations, I miss cuddles, I miss learning his likes and dislikes, I miss exploring something fresh and new.
Do I even deserve love?
I can’t remember what it feels like to meet someone new.
Is it butterflies? Sparks?
I’ve made many mistakes in choices surrounding love.
How will I know I won’t make a mistake when the right one finally arrives?
Perhaps my love is lost or he also stopped to take an unintentional indefinite break.

Will my thoughts be about pain?
Or confusion?
Seems like I’ve been stagnant for too long,
but I don’t know how to move.
I want my day to be new for once.
I need constant motivation to start a career
that I don’t know what that will be.
My desires and the Plan could be two totally different things.
I just wanna be successful, but what
could that look like for me?  
Is the sky the limit?
My ambition will never die, but I hope the same for my drive to succeed.

Oh, right hand don’t fail me now!

So where will my thoughts go?
What will become of this page and
others just like it?
The possibilities are endless,
supposedly.
Where can I begin?
Where will I end?
Perhaps my hand with a blue and black pen will make sense of the Blank Pages.

-Mia J
4/2/2021

© 2021 Mia J