A blank notebook stares at me,
Crisp pages, neat edges and lines
A pencil sharpened until the tip ******,
placed by the side.
I carefully carve slanted letters,
bundle them into words, into sentences..
and gradually,
I switch to sketches and doodles;
weird shapes,
mindlessly drawn (mostly spirals)..
Dragging the pencil to and fro
until it becomes blunt and curved.
Pens are convenient
but pencils are better.
You can always erase the mistakes,
though they leave scars and marks.
How long I sit there, I don't know.
I go to sleep,
and an abandoned notebook,
buried under tomes,
sits quietly on the desk,
telling the stories I've written.