A Writer’s Quarrel
I never did like paper.
“Well. I never liked you, either.”
I always thought it was too flashy.
“Me flashy? You were the one with all the fancy styles. You changed so easily.”
It demanded me do all the work.
“Well, I had to hold my ground while you stomped all over me.”
My mouth got dry at times and still paper sat there waiting.
“I can’t help it if you worked yourself too hard.”
I danced and performed tricks and still that paper sat, and soaked it all up.
“I was only showcasing your foolishness.”
It claimed all my good work.
“Well, if you want it so bad then take it back. Erase it.”
But I will admit that when I bled, my paper was there.
“I mean… of course I was.”
It picked up all my tears and all my mistakes.
“I always have. I’ve been right here.”
My errors and my beauty were displayed.
“I thought you didn’t care. I thought I was just in the way for you.”
I can’t believe I haven’t said it before!
“Said what?!”
I’m just now realizing…
“Realizing what?”
that my paper has never left me.
Even when I wrecked their porcelain skin.
Even when I made a fool of myself.
Even when I changed my ways.
Even when my throat was parched.
And even still when I took it for granted,
never once did they complain.
“I… I…”
“Paper?”
“Yes, Pen?”
“I love you.”
“Pen?”
“Yes, Paper?”
“I love you, too.”