The smell of new books
(Intoxicating like that of varnish)
Fancied friends, pencils and pens
The careful walking around the puddles
While reading the messages on the raincoats.
The drying of clothes on tables, chairs
The silly things written down
(Poems or just drawings)
Out of joy or the warmth at home.
Melancholy is hard to find
In such an image.
(Even years later, when you reflect)
It will take a little more time
For the pencils to darken.