When I was young, I used to wish that my drawings would come to life and be my best friend. I used to write down their complete profiles beside each character, like rare trading cards that only I had.
It's been a while since I drew anything seriously -- much more a decent human being. Ever since I grew up, my drawings have become nothing but random lines and figures on pieces of notepad, receipts and paper napkins.
Sappy, but I guess it's much like finding love. You begin with drawing your ideal, wishing they'd come true and never leave you. But then you grow up, and realize that it won't ever happen. Your perfect character will forever be a drawing, so you begin to let go -- you spend less time on your desk and more time on more practical things.
But then little pockets of moments creep back, and you find yourself doodling what seem like random things on unimportant canvases. I don't know, maybe the random doodles are really just fragments of your ideal coming back, trying to remind you that maybe, just maybe, they will still come to life.
