The white blankness of the page holds in it a thousand fears of my own, swirling in a dismal cyclone of failed hopes and awry dreams that feed on the willingness of my own unmoving feet. They grow larger and larger and the page grows whiter and whiter until the falling snow outside my bedroom window cannot match the whiteness that seethes across the page. It is too bright, much too bright, painfully too bright, and I close my eyes in the hopes of making it go away, but the much-too-brightness does not go away and, instead, beats against my closed eyelids like waves crashing dutifully down onto a smooth, sandy shore.

Something in my head, its body parting the sea of voices that caw and claw for attention every single second of my being, speaks to me in a voice full of eternal calmness and omnipotent knowing. Soon you shall see my wishes for You.

The deepness of his voice calms me, lulls me into that very same state of eternal calmness, and I find my eyes slowly opening in a hushed welcome to the brightness of the page that was once my endless possibility and dream-crushing enemy.

Slowly, ink of a million colors appears on the page, blurry at first and then as clear and sharp as a ray of light. Colors I do not have name for paint a picture of life. The lines on the page twist and turn and swirl and dip and dive. There are colors of great happiness; tales that will be told in boisterous voices with fast moving hands to a crowd of loud claps and booms; tales that will be told in quiet, quick words, hushed on a cold winter morning to bleary-eyed children buried under layers of blankets that will never truly warm them again, in the dead of the morning when all is still and silent.

Pick up the page, the voice beckons.

My pale hands buzz, my fingertips yearning for the smooth yet rough yet wonderful feel I know the paper will give me. There is no hesitation in me now, not like there was before when I did not know the Truth, the Word. Now I know that if I fall, I will be caught. If I seek, I shall find. If I ask, I shall receive. At the end of the page is an eternal bliss, a nirvana so sweet neither ripe fruit nor spirited drink can come close to match it. All I have to do is rise and fall with the currents of this page and I will be forever content.

My fingers, spider-like in length and nimbleness, reach for the warmth of the page, which I can feel radiating from it. Like a harsh ray of light. But that is part of it, and will always be part of it. I can get warm but sometimes I will be singed.
But the end of the end of the page. The end of the page. The bliss is at the end of the page.
So my fingertips grip the paper and in a single, divine-move of a moment, I can See. Everything and anything is spread before my mind in a map so clearly and carefully thought out, only the voice, so calm and meaningful, could have taken the time to craft out each move carefully, putting in each one its very own heart.

My life. This is my life. What I am to become and where I begin, with whom I will share the sweetest and bitterest of moments, when I fall, why I fall, when I rise, why I rise, my smiles, my laughs, my shouts, my screams, my cries, my sobs, my aches, my pains, my joys, my triumphs, my falls, my everything, everything, everything. Its painful beauty elevates me and stuns me and I am captivated in the rawest form of the word; every fiber of me has risen and fallen in that moment to a place where I have been set free.

But something twists, something twitches in my moment and I think it is my eye, remembering the pain, the sting of words past said before I touched the paper, before I saw that beautifully painful brightness.

You will forget all of this.

The panic subsides as quickly as it swelled because it is the same voice, the same voice that promised everything will be okay and everything is okay and that is the way it will always be. It is the same voice, the same voice, and it lulls me once more, seduces me with its fulfilling promises of hope and joy even through helplessness and sorrow.
So I drop the page and it spirals into a dark abyss I know will one day fill with light, and as the realizations that inspired and enlightened me just seconds ago slowly fade to distant, buried, soon-to-be-found memories, I smile.