Laying there, the filtered morning sun lands on my husband's bare shoulder as he softly snores. I can't help but focus on the hollow feeling in the pit of my being. It is beautiful and serene this hour of morning, yet I cannot shake the indescribable emptiness lingering within me. I close my eyes and focus, trying hard to locate the source of this void. Somehow, if I can find its origin, I will be on my way to filling it, making myself whole once again. I see the beauty of this desolate feeling I have and I imagine how I'd capture it. In my mind, I begin the opening lines of a novel. "I lie here in bed with nothing to distract my focus from the empty hollow within me. I ache to satisfy the longing to fill the darkness, bringing light to this lost part of my being." I lay there and revel in the satisfaction of that thought. To fill the blank pages of paper with words depicting the ideas and emotions rushing through my mind seems to draw all of my interest. A smile slowly creeps across my lips until I am conscious of its bloom. It is at this moment that I realize that that hollow within me is a place where self-expression used to take its shape in the creativity of the written word. So it was, the irony, that I might lay in bed one morning and think of writing a book to explore the emptiness I was experiencing, in hope of finding its cause and mending it. And in the daydream of solving my problem, I stumbled upon the very thing that I was longing for...to write again with feeling and beauty for no reason but to create it.