The colouring pencil in his hand

looked new.

The colour didn’t matter.

He lay there

figuring out which part of the Globe

to paint next.

He scratched his head

He had to be sure

Whatever he filled in the next needed to be right

The right portion of the world

himself

another culture

another hobby

he wanted to understand

to learn

to discover

because that is life

at least his life

One that was currently in need

of a new pencil

and not a new holder

a common misunderstanding

but a drastic one.

Afterall

he was the only one who

could hold the pencil.

Otherwise he would never

recognise the world he had coloured.