I stare at the old picture, reminiscing about the past. My art teacher's words jumble and melt into the background. Pencils, pens, and paintbrushes scratch the thick surface of paper. I stare at the familiar face. My eyes well up with water, similar to the cup my brush is swimming in. My teacher persists to talk about vanishing points. A perspective in which a point in space is farthest from the viewer. I look down at my incomplete canvas and trace the parallel lines. I picture the face following those lines as well, until they reach the end and disappear.