When words failed him, he drew.

His drawings were more eloquent than the richest Prince.

His drawings were more believable than the best magician.

But, somehow, it was not enough.

They but paper, and though they danced, they could not live.

Still, he’d assure me as he swept his hair from his face, fingers grazing his canvas, It will soon be enough.

Finally, the drawings were done. And it held my face.

See? It is enough.