It’s the middle of the night and the man was sitting by his desk with a lamp just enough for him and all his sketched ideas lying around. Distance between the man and his sketches was directly proportional to the ones he liked. The further away are less likely to be executed. He was clearly all over the place and definitely indecisive. Here he had one block. One chance to carve something special out of it. First step was a crucial one. That’s the ambiguity with which he looked over at the block, lit lightly - just one and half of it’s side, all the rest fading into the dark. 

And he thought what’s the real reason behind this ambiguity. Where does he start thinking of ideas and till what point he will go on? Is the time, when you have burnt all your midnight oil is that moment or I can’t think anymore, which one? Is there such a point? How can there be, as it's a personal journey with no fixed endpoint.

Having said that, as the fate will have it, the final shape of the block was decided already as the fate of a man, what he was going to carve. And wasn’t that the life, that was happening between these. Something sparked in his head and once that happened, he didn’t need pencil and paper. It was clearer than the sketches he had put down on paper. The one that can’t be erased, like the ones he sketched on the paper could have been. Like it was etched on his brain.

He blew off the lamp and looked out of the window. Now his mind was as peaceful as the city slept around him.