Behind the glass

Out of reach

The writer’s nightmare is staring at an empty page with no notion of how to fill it. Thoughts do not coalesce into ideas and the words do not come. Strangely, worse than this, is staring at a screen full of icons, rich with possibility, but finding that none holds any promise or piques the interest.

Tap, blank stare, tap, swipe away.

Rinse and repeat; a repetitive dance of fingers on glass manipulating pixels that float just under its surface; a forlorn hope that things will, somehow, look different the second, third or even fourth time around.

There are less icons than there used to be, there could probably be even less as others have not been tapped in such a long while but, while there remains the faintest of chances they will be revived, they have not been removed.

Tap, stare, tap, swipe.

That which used to be so riveting suddenly seems so pointless, irrelevant — a dull chatter at the periphery of the senses. It is almost like being trapped in a bubble: there’s the most amazing party happening just behind the glass but, like the pixels, it can’t be touched. The party would have a crazy vibe and the freshest music but, this side of the glass, all that plays is the same old mix tape from over 20 years ago.

Tap, stare, nothing.

Tap, swipe.

Maybe next time.

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