A pen in my hand and a note pad to orchestrate the symphony that plays in my head.

Somehow I find it difficult to be the grand maestro I felt myself to be moments before.

I stare at that blank page, I witness my entire being in those dainty straight lines. A bizzare connection between the lines I so desperately wanted to fill and my life.

All this time it hasn't occurred to me that my life was a blank piece of paper, frivolous and brittle, a single misguided stroke of a pen can tear away my being.

I too struggled to fill the empty lines that bordered those pages, that would grow old and be aquinted to my pains and mistakes but somehow tell of my greatness

© M.X.M