• I sat down here,
    In front of a beautiful lake,
    With paper and pencil in hand,
    And no idea what to write.

    I put on my favorite music,
    And looked out at the lake.
    Waves rolling peacefully, hair blowing gently,
    And no idea what to write.

    I wanted to write about us.
    About you and I,
    And how perfect we are together.
    But I had no idea how to start.

    Maybe it’s because my world is too confusing.
    Maybe the reason is that our world has been rattled.
    Shattered, then beaten down again;
    Both of us angels now lay on the ground.

    I wished I were still with you,
    And I worried, praying you’re still alright.
    I found myself grieving over what happened,
    And I found myself in pain.

    Staring out at the water, I was hoping you were still okay.
    And I was imagining you calling once again.
    Sobbing and crying hysterically,
    Finding your comfort by repeating my name.

    Finding a comfort in my arms,
    And in imagining my smile.
    I wanted to be there to dry your tears;
    Be there to ease your pain.

    I realized that you are my inspiration.
    You are the reason I continue to try.
    To work, to live.
    But here I am, with nothing to say.

    I laughed and put the paper down,
    Took the ear phones out,
    And let the pencil fall.
    My head was held by my hands.

    How can this be?
    I asked myself silently.
    The two of us, we’re like a pair of doves.
    This should be easy for me.

    I wanted to ease your pain,
    And be by your side for you when you cried.
    Nothing I wanted more in the world
    Than to hold you in my arms for eternity.

    But speechless I am, finally.
    It seems even Superman cannot be super all the time.
    I was surprised;
    Even I bleed red.

    As tears strolled down my cheeks,
    I reopened my eyes.
    I gripped my hair, and watched them fall,
    Staining the notebook paper with sorrow.

    Something smeared, catching my attention,
    And I lifted my head slightly.
    I stared down at the paper with strange fascination,
    Forcing my tears to cease momentarily.

    It was ink,
    Smeared on the paper by my tears.
    It was the ink, which read;
    Inspired.

    Here I sit,
    In front of a beautiful lake;
    Paper and pencil are dead before me
    Because I have nothing to say.

    I am inspired.
    I have nothing to say.