Allegory of the Sheet

This is something I wrote some time in November on a blank sheet of printer paper... I still have the paper, the writing covers about half of it, and I thought I was going to explain on the second half of the sheet, but so far I haven't... I don't know if anyone is reading these posts, but if you are, I hope this makes you think some, whether you agree or not. Comments of any type are more than welcome!

--- Allegory of the Sheet ---

Blank, white, pristine. Not anymore, I've broken it. I've torn a hole in the perfection and given space to meaning, to conversation. I've made mistakes, I'm not perfect, this page will never be homogeneous, pure. It can never again be what it once was, but I am already appreciating it more this way. It has more worth to me now that it's unique, now that I can look at it and call it mine. Even if I eventually trash it, for it will not become good enough again, even after it is gone, I will still care more for it than a blank sheet. Even when it's broken, useless, gone: even then it will be a testament to my existence, to my creativity, to my ability, to my nature. But what if it becomes what I intend? What if I make of it a small version of myself, something that I can relate to, something that interacts with who I am? Then, by all means, I shall frame it, keep it close to me, cherish it. If my work in it is received, if my purpose is fulfilled in it, I would keep and remember it as long as my memory holds, and I would parade it, my creation, in front of others, not because I want to hear them say how good it is, but so they would enjoy it the way I do, and they would know me better. If it shows itself as mine I will continue my relation to it, as creator; if not, I will cast it far from me. This will prove my love of the one I keep and my devotion to what is good. It will also allow me to have a special relationship with the work that reflects me, allow me to enjoy and commune with my good creation without the presence of those works which failed me. However, even I, as an imperfect creator, corrupted composer, know some things need a second chance. I am willing to re-create, willing to refresh or re-form an idea, a work, which shows promise. I will continue a tale if its end shows promise, as only I, the author, could know. I'll check my spelling, edit errors; search for holes, unexplained questions in the tale, but even then, if the story is too far gone, even after hours and days of work, if the story no longer reflects me, it must be trashed, I do not recycle.