I really admire you, you know that?
I love looking over to you in a dimmed classroom,
and seeing the same thing every morning.
An open notebook, begging you to write more.
You're like me.
We find such comfort in the pencil and paper.
They are our relief and escape.
This, my friend, is the way we pour forth our souls.

I thought the other day the right words could never leave my mouth.
They bubble up in my chest and in my throat.
Rising, rising, risi-
then escape through my fingertips.

You rip the paper out and delicately fold it up.
Gently now, those words are precious.
So I know that with a great deal of trust
you place it in my hand.
This, my friend, is the way we connect.
And the level on which we connect is a transcendental one.
Our words are perpetuated through ink and graphite.
This is the reason for my admiration.
You understand.
You're like me.