I walk into your dorm room late, going into your room that has the lights off, you only do that when you have a headache or sleeping. So either way I move quietly, opening the doors slowly. I see you sitting on the bed with your head in your hands, and an empty sketchbook page in your lap. I place my bag on the bedside and I sit behind you, wrapping my legs around you and laying my head on your shoulder, looking over it at your lap, holding your hand

"Is it art block again?"