It has been six months and no one has found a lick of evidence that could hold me or prove that someone else did it. I've been waiting the six months and hard long hours for a crime I didn't do to get out. I understand that the cops are just doing their job but six months no evidence? What is taking them so long to convict the person who actually did it? I had nothing to do with this crime but why am I the one in jail for it? Let's see how long it'll take them to really catch the perp and find the money that he taken with him.

Why does it seems that cops have  nothing better to do but putting people in handcuffs? I mean, I was minding my own damn business. Why would I rob a store that I religiously go to? On top of that its not like I had motive to do so. Now I'm sitting here behind bars waiting for them to figure out who really did it. And as I wait, I'm thinking who could have known that I have been there before.

Tick tock as I watch the clock. Time passes hour by hour, minutes by mintue, second by second, moment by moment the time passes. I wait and wait. I play the game of waiting. The more I wait the more I see. I have practice the art of waiting for the perfect moment. I wait in the trees for someone to see me. Waiting and waiting. 

When I look at blank page I see an opportunity to explore and find what I can write on such a perfect blank empty page. The blank pages of my book, my life is something I search to find a way to fill it. To make new experiences, to find a way of life. I see endless blank pages that I wish to fill with words, with fantasies of different worlds that I want to take my readers. I'm only a simple author of many words for other but little to none for myself. I like to tell stories and write them too. My blank pages are waiting to be filled.

-Wendy Haynes