She loved him from the first sight
An unexplainable attraction
A sudden star shining so bright
Her adoration, the sudden reaction
His beauty used to steal her heart
His talent for taking her soul
His entire being, a work of art
He was the other half to her whole
She saw the beauty inside of him
She saw perfection in his flaws
Yet the future for her love looked grim
For her affection, he never saw
In the sea of fans, she's just another
The love she has, he will never discover

I sat on the bed, laptop resting on my legs, leaning back and taking a sip of green tea. The ugly, blank open document stared at me, that wretched cursor teasingly blinking at me. Writer's block was such an infrequent occurrence to me that sometimes I forgot about its existence – those were the times it would strike.

Vaguely, I wondered what time it was. My eyes, so preoccupied thinking that staring at the cursor would magically result in words, decided it was best not to check the time in the bottom corner of the screen. I estimated it. Midnight, at least. It was hard to tell – there's not much difference in the darkness of 10 PM and the darkness of 1 AM.

What I did know was that the only light in the bedroom was my laptop screen, I had a strange urge to listen to Japanese rock music, I was thirsty again, and that damned document was still blank.

I reached my left hand out and absent-mindedly fumbled for the green tea bottle that I had set down, while at the same time fulfilling my other wish by finally leaving the entrancing word processor to open YouTube and track down some music.

After I had begun playing a song, I didn't have an excuse to be away from my writing anymore. I went back to staring at the cursor, chewing my bottom lip lightly.

(You'd think that, given I am mute and thus was not allowed the blessing of speech at birth, I would easily be able to let written [or, shall we say, typed] words flow, but that obviously isn't the case. Every day, life prevents me from spewing my thoughts and ramblings to the world, and every day my inner ponderings lend themselves to my writing, but it seems that this day just wasn't the day for that.)

A few minutes of hoping I could make a strange telepathic creation appear on the screen by staring endlessly into my document's soul passed, and I took a new approach. I began typing a list of things that I could usually write about easily to see if any of them would spark an idea.

Anime
Pretty boys
Unicorns
Dragons
Rainstorms
Disney movies
Diseased characters
The Muppets

I gave up after Muppets, partly because I couldn't think of anything more at the time and partly because I couldn't find anything interesting enough to top "diseased characters" and "The Muppets".

I let out a light yawn and rubbed my eyes, knowing that sleep would soon lure me into its trap, but I was determined to get, at the very least, a sentence down. Even a sentence was progress, and everyone knows that progress leads to success. Eventually.

Turning up the volume on my music in hopes it would prevent me from an unanticipated slumber, I got another idea. Type up nonsensical sentences and see if any of them transform into stories.

And, with that, the bacon said his farewells and embarked on a journey unlike that ever seen by bacon before.
Streaks of crimson blood dripped down the outside of the window, and 6-year-old Billy wondered just what had occurred outside of his house.
The rain poured down outside, but Jacob's only care was inside the hospital as he wept over the loss of his diseased and now deceased Muppet best friend.

Okay, that last one was a little cruel and not at all inspiring for a story; I'll admit. The bacon one had potential, although no plot jumped to mind immediately and I wasn't about to start an intense thinking session about bacon at one in the morning.

That's when it hit me; the obvious answer to my plight. I wondered how, after sitting in front of the computer for over three hours, I hadn't thought of it when it was such an easy yet powerful idea for a writing prompt; write about my struggle to write.