The sun had set hours ago, but it was still light, at least in his one little corner of his room. The lamp shown brightly on his desk as he sketched.

The inspiration had hit as he climbed into bed, and he had hurried out of the bedroom and into the studio. The pencil lines spread out onto the paper, as he drew over and over, lines over lines.

Then he stopped.

The paper was dark. He lifted the paper up and graphite dust floated down onto his desk.

He shook his head and set the paper back down, tucking it back into the drawing pad. He glanced up at the clock and sighed. He put away his pencils and the pad into his drawer. He switched off the lamp.

The sun had set hours ago, and in his desk was his love and joy, tucked away, buried in his drawers.

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