analysis of a blank page

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This page was blank before I wrote these words.

It was lonely. But now it has friends.

But it’s starting to realize that these friends are empty shell-less imitations with no substance. No meaning.

The more words appear on the page, the more insignificant the page becomes. Instead of the focus, its the backdrop that no one pays attention to.

And why should they? When there are words with potential meaning covering it.

Except these words have no meaning. They never will. They exist to exist. Nothing more.

This once blank page is now a jumbled incoherent literary mess.

It could have been Shakespeare. It could have been a suicide note.

But this page has no meaning. Lacking a purpose, lacking the ability to express itself with its own words.

And that is its tragedy.