They are the only ones who fulfill me and the paper. I am the only one who illustrates with them. Two sharpened pencils who get worn down to the nub and barely an eraser to seen. Two amongst the million others I have. Two sharpened pencils who will make or break me. For heavens sake, I just want to illustrate.

Their powerful between my fingers and with my mind in contact. Without my fingers and mind in contact they are weak which makes them bleak.  They can handle emotions, weight, and pressure, why can’t I. This is how they glide.

They thrive to be picked up, and to be used in good use. Only if I can get my head out of this drawing block I wouldn’t be clawing at this rough drawing. As I  think about what to draw as I , hmmm, hmmm, hmmm away. They wait.

When I finally break the block, when I am pushed to the final breaking point I awake. When life is a bit too difficult, the two sharpened pencils come in use. What a bless to let me express.  Two sharpened pencils who increase my abilities and put me at peace. Two sharpened pencils who have shaped me to become the artist I am.  Two sharpened pencils that will make or break me.