Do you prefer pencil with, or without, an eraser? For me it is an easy answer: I prefer the eraser attached. I know I make mistakes and admit it freely; an eraser gives me the opportunity to catch them when I can. I believe a pencil with eraser qualifies as the original word processor, allowing for convenient and effortless correction without losing the flow of your writing. Having to put down the pencil to pick up an eraser is an interruption, and who has that time when writing a heartfelt poem, love letter, or shopping list? I will still use a pencil sans eraser, but my writing is more timid and less carefree. It’s almost like writing with a pen (where your mistakes will live on forever). Just as there is a certain charm to a pencil, there is a certain magic to an eraser.
We probably don’t need to be reminded, every day, people in this world, in this life, are hurting. Even yourself. You can feel it, some days more than others. Most times you are able to get past the doubt and delusion for a little while. Most times. It comes back. You know. You don’t need to be reminded, but you are. Often. A scrap of paper, a certain date, a song from a passing car, can easily evoke feelings of anger, of discontent, of a pain greater than discomfort. It’s there, in the pit of your being. Cracks flow deep beyond the surface. It is ugly, and unwanted. A true hurt. A scar slices deep into the marrow of your existence. Fractures and faults. You know hurting, or inching your way through the pain, can make you stronger. You are not sure how. Or when. You do not know why. You know it hurts, and you hate to be reminded. How strong do you need to be? How do you find empathy? How is it you can see circumstances have changed over the years, but not the cause of the pain. All that remains is the hurt.
I shed a tear today, one for myself, and one for others. I shed a tear on behalf of my brother. My sister, I know, will shed many of her own, but I shed one anyway, so it be known. A tear to remind me, again, of my father, a bigger one then for my dear caring mother. I shed a tear also for someone unknown, but I read today how the flowers have grown. I shed a tear for those in pain, and for those who cannot love again. I shed a tear for a missing child, I shed a tear for my missing wild. I shed a tear, knowing, I must be stronger, knowing I may need to shed them a little while longer. I shed a tear as I try to be kinder, every tear I shed a constant reminder. I shed a tear and then realize how a tear reminds us why we have eyes.
