She loved the sound of hearing the pencil sharpener run.

Sharp as a tac, that’s how she liked her pencil.

Putting the pencil to paper, she watched as crumbs of the tip broke, and blew away.

She wrote across the blue structured lines, whether it was about the great depression in her life time till about how today she looked across the room and met a pair of mischievous eyes; possibly another story of another soul she might get to know.

Yet it doesn’t

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there.

It’s not all about applying pen or pencil to paper.

When those materials aren’t in hand, the cellular device comes in handy, using her fingers to type away into her notes.

Arriving home from a

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                     G day of school,finishing piles of homework hours later, she finds the time to upload her recent work installment onto her laptop.

 Copying the words onto a word document, reading them over, over, and over again, adding and taking out diction until the picture is full with outlines, colored, and etched with detail; telling a simple story about how she views the world, the emotion trapped in her heart, or just silly reminiscing -- her soul feels clean, pure, and whole again.