"Can I borrow a pencil?" I asked the day I met you. I was innocent then, untouched by smoke and venom laced nothings that tasted so sweet in my ears. You looked at me, and fixated me. The drums in my body collided with one another and my heart and mind fused into one and I became a car crash. Yet I was silent, no sound emitted. I took the pencil from you, our eyes not leaving each others' company once and I wondered how you could captivate me like I was in a cage of paper. I took the pencil from you, and I felt a shock. Some people would say it was static but me, the hopeless romantic, refuses to believe that. It was our hearts, meeting on the HB #2 surface. Some say I'm a bit deluded, believing a pencil united us so intimately, but they're simpletons that'll never experience what we had, that connection on a higher level, just inches out of our reach.
That pencil just shocked me. Pass me it again, will you?