Icarus' works

Void

Tw: dissiciation

Nothing. Void.

I try forming a connection, understand, to put some words on that damned paper, but it persists in its taunting emptyness.
Empty, like when you search a long lost memory.

It's that same void of having forgotten how you met, that emptyness of forgetting everything, to feel the memories pass between your fingers like sand.

And it remains only that silence that leaves space for the thoughts, the fear, the doubts.

But the void is familiar, endless but not all the same.
The void changes, passes from the silent one, apathetic and demoralizing, of which the silence is deafening, that infinite and strangely familiar void, that void that reminds of days now far away, hours passed in a dark classroom writing notes under dictation.
It's the same void that was your companion during those hours.

And the other void, the playful one, the one that torments you, that holds you there, that's impossible to ignore, that block any other thought.

The two voids play with the mind, they torment it: the first lets it wander, gives it space, it finds it and lets it self-destruct and the second drags it with it to then dissappear and give space to the other to restart the cycle once again.

No matter how much it runs and tries to free itself, the mind will remain prisoner.

Once in a while, in the void there are moments of clarity to which it grasps on desperately, only to be dragged back into the eternal game of cat and mouse.

And the paper remains blank.