I lose pens constantly.
Constantly.
At every second of every day, a pen I once owned is now in the hands of a stranger.
I wonder if they are appreciating it as they should.
If the pen gets to write love notes or encouraging words on sticky tabs or biology lectures or groceries or to-do lists or the signatures of celebrities or hearts on the hands of preteens.
Maybe my pen will be the one that signs some bill to end a war. Or begin one. It could write the next great speech. Or play. It could ignite a revolution. It could change the world.

I hope their hands aren't sweaty.