I have a sudden irresistible urge to buy pens.
That gush with ink with colours seeping into white woven fibres on the page.
Paper was meant to be written, scribbled, scrawled, drawn on, meaning overflowing arbitrarily declared boundaries.
Everything ever present or absent on a page means something, and contributes to a larger idea and even more amazingly, can be wrought so that the exact intended idea is conveyed or so the reader is free to dream beyond convention.
Someone go buy me pens. Because there is paper here.
– Marisa Wikramanayake