Drawing upon a memory

Once upon a time, I traced the outlines of my imagination with graphite and ink, shading the contours with melancholy streaks. In grey and brown, I’d jot it down. In scribbles and dribbles, abstract or fair, I’d lay out lines on paper once bare. Scratching out the shapes of cheekbones and thighs, graceful and careful, I’d fill in the lies. With loving and longing, I’d carve out depth, trying to capture desire in’na sketch.  But one by one, brushes and paints ran dry, as charcoal too crumbled, by and by. Paper, once colored with darkened stains, bleached back to white, pure and plain. Once busy fingers lay fallow as a spirit sat bored, while pens, pencils, ‘n canvas implored. With reluctance I finally put them away; sure they would serve a purpose one day. Now covered with dust and choked with rust, my instruments and implements are essentially useless.

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