The ink

He scribbled something on the paper. Atrament arranged itself into signs, words and sentences on the yellowish paper.
The scratching of the pen on the paper echoed through the room and made me tap my feet. I was too far away to decipher what was written on the paper. I could only make out single strokes that snaked across the cellulose.
He picked up the paper and breathed on it.
The ink disappeared.