Writer has returned

Puzzled and confused, the Writer sits in front of his white canvas again after experiencing further internal conflict raging within. Past convictions declaring war against current commitments. Lots of holier-than-thou viewpoints and judgmental glances from both sides.

However, the Writer is not moved by such strife. He grabs the weapon of mass destruction by his side and begins carving the artistic bullet holes into his white paper wall of horizontal lines and uniformity. Words form and carry his thoughts as his rage slowly dims with each finished sentence.

With the first page complete, he leans back in his chair. Taking in the carnage of his work and the literate art remaining before him. Without realizing it, his heart rate had dropped. It wasn’t until he noticed tears leaving his cheeks that the day’s stress was finally leaving his mortal shell.

This brought a smile to the Writer’s face. For he finally had a moment to live, instead of slowly dying from internal, stressful wars. With that, he flipped to the next blank page, continuing the victory march of meaning and value on every proceeding page.