Even when blank you flash with memories. Mindless doodles, quickly jotted poems. Stains of past lessons still remain.
How many eyes have gazed out at your white vastness? How many hands have nervously fumbled with your squeaky markers, scrambling for answers inside their own minds?
Do you see us? Some racing to take the notes scribbled upon your pallor surface, and others facedown on the desk, trying to recover sleep that was lost.
What have you created? Perhaps a scientist, or a few? A lawyer, a doctor, maybe two? Without you, oh ever-present whiteboard, I doubt our teachers would know what to do.