Nothing ...

The well has run dry.  The words no longer flow.  The parchment is pristine with not an ink stain to be seen.  No penchant for words.  No pent up passion.  No predilection for pretentious prose. 

Minutes flow into hours, hours form a day, gathered into weeks, with no real delineation to be made.  A seamless tapestry, of dissimilar events.  Indelibly etched upon my soul yet inexplicable and invisible upon the page.

Sunrises and sunsets.  Tropical downpours and bright sunny days.  Old friends gone silent in a fit of pique.  New friends and old stories retold.  Lost memories reemerge as light shifts from one scene to the next.  A vague feeling that something else has been misplaced or set adrift in the vastness of time.

With plodding and relentless determination, time marches on.  With or without our appreciation or approval.  I seem to remember the soft yet persistent whispers of a muse.  Perhaps I am mistaken or confused.  Sitting here as I am, gazing out the window.  My eyes are lifted skyward.  My heart sores at the same moment my mind voids.  Leaving me contemplating, nothingness or perhaps nothing at all.