He wrote a line.

Any line,

anything,

just to avoid the paleness of the page

usually so inviting and promising

but at times like this

it was a threatening chasm

between him and his self

 

He erased the line.

He'd read it a thousand times,

killing himself over it,

wondering if it sounded half as great

to someone else

a phantom hovering behind the reflection

a 1-way mirror

The tension was unfair

 

He shoved the page away.

A life of happiness

with no trouble or struggle

gave him trouble and struggle,

because without experience

he could not hope to write.

 

He walked away from the page

and went to get his experience