It’s like looking in front of a white empty space and there’s nothing on it. It’s a clean, untainted portrait hanging on the wall for everyone to see. And, despite it being empty, people still gawked and stared at it as if it actually had something on the painting. Some looked in awe, and some were enamored by the size and “simplicity” of it. This is how I feel about my writing sometimes. Usually, there’s nothing interesting to read about it perhaps like right now with you, dear reader. Yet, for some reason, you still probably read on because you were either captured by the writing or you were just reading for enjoyment. In the end, though, I find my writing sometimes to be uninteresting. Or perhaps, it’s just one of those days when I am not motivated at all to do so.