Unfilled Grid

The paper sheet, so thin and white,

holds no appointment, day or night.

No circled date, no urgent plea,

just vacant space staring back at me.

The faint grey marks of months gone by,

beneath a blank and waiting sky.

Each square a breath I did not take,

a promise that I didn't make.

This empty grid, a quiet dare,

reflecting nothing in the air.

No future planned, no past to keep,

just silent hours, falling deep.