You hold a pencil in your hand
one ready for soft gray lines
before promising me anything;
though it is also more than capable
of engraving our entire life.

There is a sort of passion
in everything you do;
however it does fade away
sometimes slowly, preventing
mistakes too dark to erase.

As you drag that pencil across
the rough, pulpy paper again
I am coming up with the story to
tell on the same page when
others dare to pretend that they

understand.

Someday your work will be in
all the finest museums covering
ceilings in a million mausoleums
and yet that will not be the end.

Because one day they will know
your name the way I do.
I just hope that you remember
I loved you before you were cool;
you are my brightest star
and I would do anything for you.

When you finish this page
let me see it before moving on
I think I can inspire the next one
with lines showing the depth of you
and the contrast in me.

Someday we will be your
most famous work of

artistry.