I watch the gray trail I leave on the paper, all just lines drawn together to make wards, to make sense.
I think of my friends, and which characters they inspired, as the ink traces the characteristics, and the details of their descriptions.
I see the words appear on the paper, In America’s finest gray ink.
I smile as I reread them and see how much I’ve improved, of how great the gray ink looks, of how great the gray words flow together.
I look at the road ahead, and I see my inspirations, waiting to cheer me on, as I keeping moving my hand across the flat white surface, leaving it forever stained with my words of creativity.
My inspirations are of few, Like great authors, and friends, like music and family.
And years from now, I don’t know where I will be,
But I know that every day, I will still see the words flowing onto the paper,
under my pencil, in America’s finest gray ink.