The kid who never dropped the pen

Last night I dreamed I was sifting through a box of old schoolwork — crayon scribbles, half-erased math, a single page where a boy had drawn the same stick figure over and over, each one slightly straighter. He was gripping the pencil like a dagger, the way kids do before they're taught to relax their fingers, and in the dream I just stood there watching him draw, knowing I'd never meet him in waking life.