Playing with a pencil like a reunion with old friends.
Permissibility of dancing on paper still amaze.
The smell of the wood still build imagination.
Pulp the same memory refreshing.
Thought of as the past –
She showed quickness on the walls of the old house.
But human beings are first drawn with straight stems and understated circle has grown so mature.
They have weight, hair, wrinkles, and the third dimension.
Graphite in my fingers that age.
Abrasion with this medium also inevitable.
Pencil. The color is weak and does not rupture as ink.
It’s okay. Because even now I still have not managed to draw love.