The could-be-masterpiece

Just like sugar rush, I sometimes get word rush.

Word rush is when my mind is overflowing with all these thoughts and constructing these beautiful sentences with such exquisite meanings but it's all so fast that my hands are not able to keep up and before I know it, it's gone.

And I am thrown back into that abyss of deafening silence and overwhelming solitude.

But even in that scary stillness, words make their way. Not in a rush though. Quietly and calmly. Like water flowing through the littles nooks and crevices.

I caress these words very delicately and let them paint my blank canvas. They don't disappoint me.

But I keep feeling empty. I feel like the painting is missing something. Like the painting could be a masterpiece but for the missing piece.

And soon the painting turns into a puzzle, waiting for its missing piece.

What could have been a great art, is suddenly reduced to an incomplete nothingness.

After a while, the words seem insignificant and unnecessary so I erase them. Erase them with my everything.

Soon there's a blank canvas again. A surface glossed with my tears. Almost like a mirror, it reflects my own self.

And in that reflection, I find the missing piece.

It's all of me.

The words flowing through my veins were just a part of me. So they couldn't complete the painting and make a masterpiece.

But my entire self is just a blank canvas...

The missing piece of an obsolete puzzle...

And so the painting remains incomplete. The masterpiece undelineated.