Liz Seda

All I could see was the blank page. I found myself staring at the journal that lay open on my lap. It was the third time in a week I’d made an attempt to start writing in my new journal and I was determined to begin with something other than ‘Dear Diary.’ Several minutes, one headache, and three aspirin later I closed the journal and decided I’d try again tomorrow when I was fresh.

The morning rolls around and I sit staring at that wretched blank page which just stares right back at me as if to say, “How many times are we going to go through this?” Finally I caved and I wrote, ‘Dear Diary,’ in black pen. Suddenly, the words that wouldn’t come flowed easily. I wrote for an hour. Who knew I had so much to say? I was fascinated.