I sketch Jacob's figure in a notebook that I borrowed from him. I'd say I'm decent, but I left that truth a couple of pages ago continuing my failing attempts to draw. Some days I'm good, today is simply not my day. I'm on my fifth try. We sat on a fixed bed on the deck, it's dark out. The only thing that lit up the night is the moon and the stars. It's a sight to see; the stars. When I think stars, I think my mother's eyes. I only ever saw her in pictures, which is sad but at least I know how stunning she was.
At this moment, I admire the simplicity of our relationship. We had dinner and now we're merely enjoying eachothers' company doing our own thing; me practicing my drawing using his relaxed physique as my model, as he went through his email. The dinner; it was nice—expensive. Never
