I curve, the lines flow elegantly onto the surface

Dark curves, long curves, jagged curves and smooth curves

All becomes a piece of the puzzle.

Hours into dusk the curves fall into place.

Until one day, the curves stop as if frozen in time.

Pieces of rubber lay about and dark granules scattered

Then comes the gust of wind that clears the now filled surface.

I hang the surface on the wall and admire its beauty.

Color, emotion and perspective flow.

Happily, I tighten my hands barely able to contain my excitement.

SNAP!

I gaze down to my hand, full of splintered wood.

The destroyed tool I used to create the masterpiece is gone,

Forever destroyed and unable to join back to its former glory.

I think back to my hours with it, using it into the night realizing just how important it was.

Nothing will ever replace my pencil.