Empty Or Full?

The want flares up day after day to fill this white space that glares at me. While I sit staring back at this space, with my fingers on the keys, determined to colour, my mind resembles a cobweb of intricate thoughts that are hard to dissever or compartmentalise. In fast motion, I leaf through this labyrinth also thinking about you; both of you merge. You become everything, everything becomes you. I try hard, like finger-combing, to disentangle the mess but all that is left behind in the end is a coil of hapazardly knit black wool.