What went on

Looking at the space before me I can't help but feel drained, as I have nothing to fill this empty void, a vacant canvas awaiting the inevitable brushes of colors. Using the excuse of a writer's block is not only superfluous but also a cruel misnomer. I am by no means a writer and certainly nor am I a person who had been credited with pieces of creativity so prophetic that they wish for an encore.

I yearn for the ability that I can write things that move people, words building up into three dimensional figures and reaching out to touch your heart.

Until then, I can only sit by the window and hear the rains come and go, amazed by the pelting shards of inspiration against the impervious walls. Seemingly within reach but simply untouchable.