Pen

I forget how much I enjoy a fantastic pen making a sharp bold line across white paper. It is too bad that my hand is more suited to spaghetti than writing.

For so much of human existence the pen has kept track of us. The pen has scratched the numbers, the laws, the stories we based our lives on. Many think of the times before the pen as an era of barbarians. Societies without the pen are considered backward.

I remember may years ago in high school trying to use a shaped pen to write calligraphy. I loved how it put ink on the page and hated how much of an ox I was using it. The lines and dots were done in India ink. They were black as darkness without stars. They were beautiful. Well, they were beautiful when drawn by someone else.

I write with a keyboard. I can make the type black on white, but it will never scratch properly. It will never smell the same. The same as something that I've never really known.