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The blank page

Sometimes the words just won’t come and the blank page stares up at me, like a friend I have offended.

Its tone is hard, white-faced anger, underlined with disappointment at my perceived neglect.

My frustration matters not, for it does not really care about the words, only that it’s destiny is fulfilled sufficiently

that it may become something useful, something of interest and not end up in the scrap recycling.

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