Today as I contemplated my ability to communicate, a strange gratitude stole over me. I became grateful for blank pages.
What a gift of possibilities! Every time I see a blank page, I can rejoice. With every letter I type on it, I gain greater and greater potential for absolute uniqueness. Though this subject surely has been discussed before, for the first time, it applies to me, and I am rejoicing over it. I am unique in this universe. The words I write have all been written and spoken before, but not in the same order, and not with the same exact intent. I am expressing the infinity of possibilities with my writing. No matter how much I write, the page ahead of me is always blank, and thus the possibilities I can express remain infinite, no matter what I write now. What follows might be the most profound thing ever written, and it might be the secret to solving all crime, and it might be a recipe for salt water, but before I write, it can be anything. Anything. I feel so privileged to have so many possibilities before me...