I could become a pen and lay in a desk forever,
I could wait hidden in a drawer and wait there forever,
but what's the use of being a pen?

Sometimes I wonder...

Is it fair to remain in one place until the ink dries,
until there's nothing else in me
that could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Is it fair to be in one place until someone comes looking for me,
Until with me
that someone could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Though at times I ponder...

Why can't I just be the person who holds the pen?

And then I think,
I will suffice with just being like a pen.