Blank Walls

I want to write about New York.

I want to write about leaving New York. About everything I'm thinking, everything I'm feeling, everything I'm looking forward to and everything I'm leaving behind. But the words won't come.

So instead, I'm sitting here staring at the blank walls of what used to be the most fabulous New York bedroom ever. With high ceilings and huge windows and beautiful hard wood floors. But now the walls are bare, the shelves, closets and drawers are all empty. And all my things that once decorated this pretty room are now packed into boxes on a truck to Texas.

I'm restless. I can't sleep. I can't write. I can't do anything. But stare at my bare walls. And wonder what's next. For them. For me.

I want to write about New York.
And I will. Once I can get past the blank walls.