... Something made me pick up an empty envelope from the table. Something made my hand, armed with a ballpoint, move across the bonewhite surface in a way that was strange and familiar to me at the same time. I was surprised, almost a bit terrified. I fought my instincts with a stiff wrist and blocked mind, forcing the lines in wrong direction. The poor envelope was in the end completely covered in ink, from corner to corner. Then, that same Something made me go out to the garage. And there they were, my old dusty sketchbooks, not opened for years. I think I stood in the middle of the garage for 10-15 minutes, turning a sketched page after another, smiling and even laughing out loud now and then. I walked back in, sat down in the sofa, grabbed the pen and... tried not to think.
I'm eager to see where this journey takes me.