I found the fondest memories whilst fiddling with a pencil...
Trying to morph mere doodles into art...a part or a-part of art...
Pain in bold outlines ...happiness in curved lines...they crossed and started to seem that like eyes...not mine though...they had curled eye lashes and a non-raised mole beside one eye..

Awfully familiar ...I've met them before...downward stroke with wrist turning downward if not more to the right...I see a cheek I used to kiss that came with a request to kiss it...whilst embarrassed yet delighted in the honor...

I recall being a lot shorter and looking up to these talking skyscrapers around me that pick me up every chance they get...how could I forget...
These pencil scrubs fade into what seems lips that used to kiss me and tell me that I'm a good boy and that I'll grow taller...wiser and amount to something greater...these lips were the opening to a voice I heard every morning telling me that the day has began and "don't lose your tie at school again"
This page that now bares a tear or to as I'm torn by the taunting agony from the joy that once was...

These lines ...faded with some parts of the page slightly folded...shaded in some parts...bold outlines...steady hand...Be my love...

My mother