Sighx,

Why must it always end up like this. Once every two weeks...

The pen is always reliant on the cap. When the cap fails, even the ink does too..the pen gets frustrated. The paper does not even gain. The pen writes frantically on the paper.. scratches.. wildly swaying its tip. leaving marks and grooves in the paper. No one ever cares.

All the pen thinks of is the cap. Pining, trying to catch the attention of the cap to come back...

Deep dark secrets are not meant to be shared. In the first place.. deep dark secrets are not nice stuff.. they just crawl deep and stay there.. clawing, creeping. A hideous existence not meant to be shown off, hidden, not wanting to be seen. Yet apparent. Apparent to the one who harbours it. The one who suffers it.

If the pen was wholly made in the US, it will probably disintegrate by now. With the cultural-structural lynchpins holding the various pieces back, pinning it in place, its existence just persists and sustains on reasons..reasons of the mundane, reasons that will soon run out.

When will that be..the pen wonders. For what reason am I existing? Day by day.. the time will reach when the ink dries out.. becomes obsolete for the pen.

What will the pen be then? The paper crumples up and cry desolate tears for the pen..withers, yellows. The grooves still remain..etched deep. Never fading, never returning back to normal.