I sit and stare at a blank page as it begins to fill itself with useless ideas.

I can sense the argument of each idea fighting for a chance to fill the page. But one question still remains…

What do I write?  

I could write about my family and the important role they play in my life. The joy that overwhelms me when my brother comes home from college, or the sadness I feel when he leaves. The loud, music filled car rides to school with my brother in the morning, or the scent of the salty, brisk air when fall arrives and my mom and I can finally walk my dog on the beach. The goodnight bear hug from dad I make sure to never miss.

I could write about my dance team. How they are always there for me when I need them them the most. The adrenaline rush I feel performing on stage with them, or waiting backstage before going on and singing along to the songs that travels from the stage like a sea of musical notes. The late thursday nights we spend discussing all the drama at school while wishing we were home in bed dreaming about something much more peaceful.

I could write about an object that means something to me, like my favorite faded, torn doll that has faced so much love that it could be thrown away but the sentimental value is too high so we throw another stitch in it. Or the stack of unread books I keep on my desk just waiting for its twists and turns to be understood by its bookworm wanna be owner. Or maybe I will write about the sky, the sea, and the sand coming together to make the perfect place for family meet ups, and sunburnt days.

The question, still far from being answered so…

I sit and I stare at a blank page filled with useless ideas.