Where ideas go

I love the crisp crackle of paper. I like watching its pristine surface slowly disappear beneath ink and lead, black and blue and gray of a drawing or some words that might mean something and might not, but they mark up the paper all the same.
Roll it up, fold it up, tear it up. Disposable and destructible, brittle and bent.
A used-up sheet is a repository of so much.

Paper is excellent stuff.