The white sheet

When I cannot find the words 

Dear readers,

There are days, I do not know what to write, I would just let my pen speak, but sometimes it just does not find the words. There are days, without knowing why, I have no more inspirations. However,  I try to let my mind fly on this sheet, on this simple piece of paper without lines or tiles. Everything to succeed in leaving my mind free to express itself. Finally, I can blacken my white sheet, even if I lose control and there is only a stain of black idea.

It is when I am lacking in inspiration that I really realize that without explanation, my muse made these suitcases! I dig digging but the source is arid, dry and nothing more animates me…

At the present moment, I wander in Paris with no real purpose, far from being unhappy, just contemplative of what is going on around me, I am looking and I contemplate life. I do not know why there are days, nothing else tempts me and I stand there, facing my white sheet.

Let the feather take flight

Sometimes, I blame myself for this solitary behavior, this bubble I create, although it is necessary for my flight. I need to write, to tell you and to describe. In a way, I realize with time that I have married my pen and that it absorbs me. There are days, I am here, yet I am absent, on days when I am really short of ideas and as I have no inspiration this article will remain in draft form.

The more I walk, the more my mind reveals a thought to me. I think about Elena, of her beautiful lascivious lips and all the love she carries me. I always desired love, the one who drives mad, today I find it, it even finds its place in the middle of my words. It is on this beautiful thought that ends this day.

I am going to rest at the hotel Le Tourville to find new ideas with this thought of my beloved. Dear readers, I wish you a delightful evening.

See you soon!

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