Someone once walked up to me in a bookstore and told me the opposite, and told me that there were nine reasons already, and told me that he just needed one more, as if ten solid, probably incorrect logically, reasons listed on paper (ironically, in ink) would justify a theory that is all too promising.
Life is not like a pencil, because nothing is ever gone. No matter how hard you try to make things up, to fix things, to mend things, to call more, to give more, to worry less, you always find that nothing is ever gone.
Life is not like a pencil, because erasing things is a figment of our imagination. Because the idea of etching a life in something not permanent defeats the purpose of the entire journey. Because with the scratched out details and the painful grammatical errors, an essay of living would be too empty. Because metaphors about objects that enable us to "draft" are never right for hearts beating and blood pumping and time passing. Because things that create algebraic equations and fill SAT bubbles shouldn't be given the task of holding and hurting and fucking up.
Life is only like pencil because hiding behind an eraser is safer than putting it all in ink. Because acting like regret is never coming is better than living too afraid to ever fill in the lines. Because hoping when it all ends, you get to walk over to the door and get a second life is more tempting than realizing that ink refills never write the same and usually, it's easier to just buy a new box.
Pencils are erasable because nothing we use them for is worth remembering, and I want to live a life in ink.
Life is also like a pencil because when you get old, you become small and useless, but no one wants to throw you away.
ReplyDeleteI've sometimes wished life was like a pencil. Your last sentence is amazing though.
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