They are the only ones who keep me sane. I am the only one who stains my body with them. Two wandering Sharpies with thin tips and larger bodies. Two permanent ideas flowing. Two parents waiting to wash them away. From my seat, I can imagine these designs, but others just see squiggles.

Their smell is memorable. They dance across my wrist showing my feelings. They drag up and they drag down, grabbing onto my skin between their bristles and discoloring my skin with clean strokes and never stop their creativity. This is how they draw.

Let one forget her imperfections, they’d all group up like a piece of art, each in a different color. Draw, draw, draw they say when I sleep. They instruct.

When I am too weak and too broken to keep imagining, when I am a small idea in someone's mind. When there is nowhere and no one else to turn to. Two who illustrate despite the tears. Two who damage and do not forget their meaning. Two whose only purpose is to keep me sane.