Scritch, scritch, scratch. Scratch… Scratch…
The bold yellow hexagonal edges of the pencil dug painfully into the last joint of his left middle finger. Uncountable paler, pathetic-yellow legal-sized wads littered the floor and desk. Words would not come. Or, they came, but they were the wrong ones. Always the wrong ones. He dug through the worthless dirt and filth of his inadequate and cowardly-yellow heart, on an endless quest for the golden verbal Grail that would win her unattainable affection.
