Is this page truly empty, or is it a mirror of the mind - vast yet untouched, silent yet echoing? To see nothing is to confront the paradox of presence in absence, like a breath lost in the wind. What is a blank space but the universe whispering its first question? Emptiness, after all, is the canvas we mistake for the void. Perhaps the page is not empty at all - perhaps it is only refusing to confess what it already knows. And so we return to the beginning: Is this page empty, or are we merely learning how to see?