There is nothing much more daunting than a blank white page. It promises mistakes and pretentiousness – which I’m not sure is even a word this late at night, as bleariness begins to sink in – as well as permanence. You can’t erase what’s already been written and you can’t lasso and recapture words thrust blindly into space like “I love you.” Those words have a habit of running away from us, tripping past our tongues and over our teeth until we can no longer taste them.
Every time I strike my typewriter’s keys, pick up a pen to write with, I feel like a little girl trying on her mother’s high heels, pretending to know more than I do or ever will. Nobody has all the answers and I can’t help but think I have less than everyone else.
Life feels like a continual race to knowing the most the quickest. It doesn’t matter what you know, but how much you know – quantity over quality. And then one day all that will be left are empty facts and words that have no more meaning. We will have forgotten why we want to know things in the first place. Why do we want to know anything? What’s the point? It’s all forgotten to be rediscovered anyway. Maybe we aren’t meant to know, but to discover.
Then again, curiosity killed the cat.
I wish there was a book setting apart what is right and what is wrong. There is too much gray in the world. Too many questions left unanswered. Too many “I love you”s hanging in the balance; too many “I miss you”s going unsaid. Too much unknown, never supposed to be known. Too many question marks???
There is too much hate. Intolerance. Greed. Boredom. Slackers. There are too many teenagers who think they’re invincible. Too many adults who have forgotten what it’s like to feel invincible. There are too many yawns and too many bones; not enough hugs or warms or fireplaces that smell like Christmas. Too much wrong and never enough right. Too many questions.
Too many question marks???
There are not enough periods. Not enough statements set in stone. Practice doesn’t make perfect nor does it make permanent. Everything is waiting to be washed away.
It’s all suspended in a state of gray where there are no yeses and even less nos. There is no time, no space, no destination. Nothing but the free fall of suspension.
And too many question marks???