I've been staring at this space for quite some time now. I've ran out of stories - stories that I could write and share with whoever's reading. Hmmm... then again, I think I can somehow squeeze one in tonight.
He was reading The Zahir by Paulo Coelho last night and the following caught his eye: "The Zahir - someone or something which, once we have come into contact with them or it, gradually occupies our every thought, until we can think of nothing else." He smiled. No one else could probably describe it better than Coelho. It's no longer a secret that someone has been his Zahir for the longest of time. If writings had a scent, his would smell like a million sweet-smelling red roses.
I'm stuck. Staring into space again. It's as though Santa had given me a "nothing box" this Christmas. I hope this W-block of mine is temporal. In the mean time, I shall continue with the story I started in my new notebook.