I have nothing to say

Blankness.

These fingers freeze atop the letter keys.

Man, I have nothing to say.

Is that possible?

What words can be found in silence,

in emptiness,

in void?

But am I really silent?

Am I empty?

Is this heart void?

Or it’s just that…

there are things I choose to leave unsaid

excitement I want to contain,

pure joy I don’t want to be tainted,

sadness I don’t want to face,

and truth that I want hidden.

I don’t know.

But perhaps, why I sit here,

enduring this impatient blankness before me,

is because the writer in me believes that

I actually have a lot to say.