The only one that defies me, stuns me, confuses me. I am the only one who can control it. One empty notebook with empty pages and empty spaces. One empty notebook that should be filled. One empty notebook neatly placed on the desk. From my bed I can see it there, staring at me, challenging me.
Its vastness is surprising. It sends shivers to the writer. It grabs at your eyes, and burrows deep into your memory with its black lines, and grips onto your consciousness with its foreboding white space. This is how it steeps.
If it were to be forgotten, laid to rest, it would shrivel and decay, its black lines grappling onto the white space. Remember, remember, remember, the notebook says when I look away. It taunts.
When my thoughts race, when my life is forgotten, when I am lost within my own mind, then I look towards the empty notebook. When there is nothing left to lose. One empty notebook lies open. One empty notebook that mocks my forgotten dreams. One empty notebook whose reason is unreasonable, print unprintable.