I was building houses in my living room.
Moving oceans in my kitchen.
Paper as my canvas.
Pens as my brush.
I was an artist on a mission.
Words were spewing out faster than my fingers would allow.
I marveled in the majestic beauty of my pen gliding across the paper.
Lines after lines.
Words after Words.
And it just wasn’t enough.
BAM!
It comes through like a freak storm.
You don’t know it’s coming and there’s no defense line in position.
An army of over ten thousand men couldn’t fight it off.
Away flew every piece of wondrous inspiration that I had the fortune to come in contact with.
I searched for the beauty in my floorboard.
In desperation, I looked towards my roof for artistic inspiration.
Disappointed, I looked away.
Lost is what I was.
My mind, a blank slate.
Not to be written on.
Not to be painted with ink from my pen.
But a blank slate simply created for the purpose of being blank.
Asleep is what I went as I searched for meaning in the clouds.