Words come out of it, aligned in perfect silence. A messenger of black on white, a slinky fellow drawing lines, of thin and soft graphite | Thinkmad.in

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Words come out of it, aligned in perfect silence. A messenger of black on white, a slinky fellow drawing lines, of thin and soft graphite

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I am but three holes. When you come out of me, you are still inside me. What am I?

What can be touched but can’t be seen?

I have strong affection for belly buttons. What am I?

You go at red, but stop at green. What am I?

It’s in your hand though you cannot feel it. Only you and time can reveal it.

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