Along the way they passed a giant pencil sharpener. To make a point because that is how they do it in these parts. Some wrote stories, others mathematics equations. Some chewed on the eraser trying to settle on a thought. Eventually someone would clean out the pencil shavings. No one asked what happened to the little bubble answers sheets, that had brought them to this place. They seemed very important once. A new page, with foreign new surrounds became visible. Before they were books they were trees. If only the trees spoke louder the books would sound like motors running out of gas. Eventually everyone ends up here, from the places they came. A place where new things appear out of nothing.
It's not what you think it's what you believe. Patricia '96
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