The Blankness of the Page

I sit here staring at the blankness of the page, wondering if I could ever do it.  Would inspiration ever come?  It actually had come, many times, in a flash of a title or a snippet of a line.  But nothing more.  No words, no sentences, no pages had ever come.  Was that because I had nothing meaningful to say or because I had no idea how to say it?

I believed that I had something to say, but knowing what words to set down on that blank page – ah, there was the rub.  How to put my thoughts together in such a way that they would form meaningful thoughts to someone besides myself.  What it came down to was this – if I did finally write, how would I know whether anyone would read it?  But finally, I knew that it mattered not if anyone read it – just that I wrote it.