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Goodbye Purple Pen You were always my first pick. When the zipper slid open, my hand looked for you, and only you, every time. Lavender hues danced across the paper as your ink flooded my page. The words always seemed more plum at the start, but as you conversed with the air they turned into a light purple that I’m not sure I knew before you. The beauty you created each time we wrote together was immeasurable. You made the Revolutionary War look pretty. My handwriting got along with you so well. Somehow you could tame the most restless squiggles that I claimed were legible. I don’t know how you did it. I remember how long you tried to hold on, rationing yourself every time I took notes. You were doing so well until this morning, when the last of your ink tried so desperately to finish the end of my letter “y.” As I lifted you from the page and saw the transparency of my letter, I knew you were gone, but I didn’t want to believe it. You were so calm as I desperately drew some quick lightning bolt shapes on my paper, trying to shock you back to life. As much as I wished to see your beautiful, flowing ink again, I knew your time was up, so I let you go. We had a good run together. My abnormal way of holding a pen will forever miss the way you fit so perfectly in its grip.
ARLETTE GINDI
