Canvas

I tilt my head.

To the side of me is what looks somewhat like a trashcan on an artist's canvas. Upon the ground before it lies a post-it note. My previous footsteps have led me to a similar trap before. I wave over it lightly with my paw. You won't fool me again. To the other side of me, there appears to be some sort of void. I look into it. Awe engulfs me, takes possession of my heart. I search, frantic, for the slghtest detail.

I've changed my mind. The void looks dead and cold, and when I looked deeper in that direction, I realised it's a road far too long to travel alone. My antennae are telling me to glance, yet again, upon the trashcan. Why focus on a lifeless pit of nothing when there's something here with much more detail to entice your mind?

It's not a pretty sight though.

The can is full.

I know it's wrong, but still I sit, in dismay and dreadful curiosity. The idea of blindly alking the length of a ne-way highway only pains me. I always wonder what may sit at the end of the road, yet I remain sat at the start, just as I always have done. Me and the canvas. My mind struggles to remove the scene already painted.

You need to create another picture, or convince me to walk alone.

I ignore the post-it note, just as you ingnored my words.

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