I remember art class.
Hot. Flushed. Unsure.
I felt naked.
What was I supposed to do?
Everyone else seemed to know how to draw but me.
What was I revealing?
And then it happened.
I became absorbed in those strokes, those lines.
Nothing else mattered.
No time limit, no rules, no boundaries.
The lines came rapidly, the charcoal tamed.
And then, it was finished, the drawing and the next sheet of paper,
gleamed in expectation.
Time stood still.