4/17/2010

She sits in a room that is dimly lit. There is a clock ticking each laborious second into a tired silence. There is a pencil in her hand and a piece of paper before her, but it is blank, a monstrous, uninterrupted whiteness. It draws the eye in this murky dimness. She gazes into this whiteness, and is aware that it will eventually blind her, or perhaps swallow her up like a swollen leviathan. The vastness is threatening, pregnant but her hand does not, cannot move to mark it, define it, shape it. Doing so would be to mark her own weakness. Once penned, it will forever be her very own.