The dusty, brown box stares me down, blaming me for the funk I’m in. I haven’t written much lately. Nothing worth noting. It’s not my fault, I tell myself. It’ll come, I say.
I’ve been misled by my own misdirection. Hey, look over here. There’s something worthwhile over there. Open this book and your eyes will land on the most galvanizing passage. That website is sure to inspire you if you will only keep clicking. The box just needs to be opened.
I am not unlike a tree at winter’s end, my bare branches waiting to be full again. But unlike the tree which simply waits for spring, I am responsible for filling my own branches.
Here, let me open that box. Watch the words grow once more.