Saying nothing at all

I'm not always ready to write. I'm not always inspired to pen something. But sometimes I'll read a poem, a piece, an article, anything, and I just want to write. The need springs up in me. The itch. In fact, there are times when I come across a written work and wish I'd written it.

There are times when I just see so much beauty in it that I wish I had created it, to know I'm capable of that.

But I'm not always inspired. Plenty of times I have felt too down to write. I just want to sleep the time away, forget the verbs and adverbs and all the letters in the words.

And people run through the world blind to all-around them, in a mad rush to exit the forest. What's to fear about trees?

And the gods go unnoticed more every day. What's to forget?

I just came across both of these notions, and normally I'd write but not today. There is so much I wish I knew how to say I end up saying very little, if not nothing.

If you haven't figured it out yet, this post is about nothing. Nothing at all.