Life...

Three hours have slipped away while I sit at my study table, the perfect setup laid out before me—a coffee and canvas waiting for a masterpiece. Yet, amidst the rain's gentle percussion and the soft melody in the background, I find myself adrift in contemplation, questioning the purpose behind this moment.

What am I trying to write? Is it something of worth, deserving publication? Will it reshape perspectives, alter minds, or is it merely an exercise in self-reflection?

The blank sheet of paper on the table mirrors the emptiness within, a stark canvas begging to be filled. Holding a pencil, I chew on its end, a futile attempt to coax out thoughts that seem elusive, lost in the void of my mind. Creativity is said to come from within, yet I feel hollow, devoid of direction.

A storm of rhetorical questions rains down upon me. Why this uncertainty? What is the elusive idea I wish to transcribe? Doubt creeps in, threatening my artistic essence, a chill at the prospect of never being able to create.

The tranquility of my pondering is shattered by a jolt of reality—homework, accounts, economics, presentations, obligations vying for attention. Two sides of me clash—the dutiful, responsible self urging study for a secure future, while another questions the authenticity of this path.

Amidst this inner turmoil, the blank page becomes a metaphor for life—its emptiness, the choices that shape it. We are the authors of our destinies, the creators of our own narratives. To pick up the pencil and write is to craft our story, while surrendering control lets others dictate our course. And then, there's the option I choose—crumple the page, toss it aside, and seek solace in slumber.

Such is life, a canvas of choices, awaiting the stroke of our decisions..