"I can safely say that both you and I have had that feeling of not being able to face that blank piece of paper, that vastness that could even absorb us, right?"

I remain in front of the empty white void longing for what I do not yet feel, hoping for what does not yet exist and hating what still drags me down. As much as I try to move away from the abyss so tangible, I feel its presence piercing me infinitely as it erases the marks of what I remember of my life. I have lost sight of the edges of my own prison and now hold the immensity locked in my hands. The only thing my eyes now notice is the terrible change that the vessel of my inked paths undergoes. A tremor runs through me from my spine to my face deforming it in a frustrated gesture. A tremor in me runs down my spine to my face deforming it in a frustrated gesture. The touch on my hands marks red lines that scream for surrender, the only thing left is to undo my confinement. I notice its force hitting my surroundings and realize that my reality already had a color of its own. I look around me detailing the balls of paper, the broken pens and pencils on the floor. It's true, I remember, I had to write a . . .