Blank Sheet

A blank sheet of paper. So full of potential with the ability to accomplish so many things. Whether it being homework, or a scrap piece of doodles it still has an imprint left upon it, almost as though it's fate has given it a purpose. I like to think of people as blank sheets, as long as their willing I suppose. You can't force fate. Perhaps, at the second of our birth we are written upon, given a reason, and every lingering moment afterwards leads us to our words, our doodles, and our being. Some become fixated on work when others are left to the unknown with their artistic abilities. Does the paper describe who we are? Can it change who we are? Were we all given potential at the beginning of our time, and we continued on writing it - without even knowing? Many have crashed and burned but even more shone, brighter than a rain drop perfectly hitting the sun. Don't rip or destroy your paper, just keep it crinkled, giving it a touch of personality. We all should carry on writing, carry on those inspired doodles, but most importantly carry on creating ourselves.