The Cursor

“Forever is composed of nows.”
― Emily Dickinson

Staring at the cursor on this blank page.

I’m sure I look at it a hundred times a day.

But today it looks somehow different.

Is it asking me a question?

 

It reminds me of a heartbeat,

Or a ticking clock.

A pulsing instigator,

Urging me to act.

 

The cursor waits,

But it does not wait idly.

Flashing its gentle reminder,

What’s next?

 

To the left, what has come before.

To the right, an empty space.

Full of potential.

Free of judgment.

 

The next word can be whatever I want it to be.

Nevermind the cursor.

It doesn’t care.

The choice is mine.

 

It’s the start of something new,

An opportunity to respond.

A placeholder for this moment,

Waiting for my story.

 

I find myself smiling,

Thinking of this little blinking thing.

Asking such big questions.

The nerve.

 

I imagine it now, but not on a screen.

It waits in the pause between words,

Of an important conversation.

Reminding me to listen.

 

I see it in the moment of silence,

Before a difficult decision.

It is here in the face of this person,

Waiting for a word of encouragement.

 

It represents a million possibilities.

It is nothing but it holds everything.

An eternal moment,

In a little flashing line.

 

I think it must have been the arrival of Spring that drew my mind to this odd reflection. A time of renewal. A reminder that seasons change.

Since many of us spend a great deal of time staring at computer screens, perhaps this little bit of symbolism will remind you of the myriad of possibilities presented to you with each passing moment.

What will you do with your cursor?

 

Photo credit: Flickr