Paper and Pencil

Pencil and paper. Paper and pencil. The two are inseparable. And, without knowing it, the two are destined to meet each other, to need each other. The paper is blank and expressionless, waiting to be alive. The pencil is full of grand tales, yet is hardened and closed off; to access them is to chip away at it.

And yet, when the two are together, they're whole. The pencil is refined and sharp, it dances with the lines of the paper in a somber glow. The paper welcomes the pencil's embrace, for it is finally whole.

But, the two's relationship can never last. For with each stroke, the pencil puts itself onto the paper. And yet, with each stroke, the pencil whittles itself down. The pencil will cherish the strength the paper brought. And it will look fondly on the smoothened edges of old fractures. But, it will not let itself break.

Still, the paper is left alone. It has nothing but remnants of the marks the pencil permanently etched onto it. It wonders about itself, about its identity now that it is once again blank - or more accurately stuck on the stray pieces of lead left behind by the pencil. And yet, it knows that it will continue to have its history written and erased, just how the pencil wrote and erased it. It will be erased over and over again. Until, finally, it tears. Just like it was torn.