I stare at the empty page

Cursor blinking at me, cursing my tardiness.

But what shall I write about?

The cursor blinks

I could write about love,

Of the desire, devotion, dread, and devastation.

But what is the point when I don’t have you yet.

The cursor blinks

I could write about grief,

Of the denial, anger, depression, and acceptance.

But what is the point when it has already been a decade.

The cursor blinks

I could write about the future

I could write about the past

I could write about the world burning at this moment in time.

The cursor blinks

I could.

I should.

But all I can

Is stare.

I

Blink.