I don't use a pencil. I can't see the lines that make the sketch, the grey of the graphite that composes them, the unidimensional road that forms my letters. However, in the same way an artist plays with a pencil, trying new forms with each movement, with each line, with every curve, I sketch with my letters, play with them, order them in different ways, and form words that I didn't ever use before.
I don't use a pencil, and my words are not a drawing. Reading is not the same as looking. Drawing is not the same as writing. However, all this text is a drawing, every comma an impoundable part of the landscape, every word a road. And that drawing, that fast and clumsy sketch, is also the mirror of a walled heart: mine.