Pencil's Obsession with Paper

I wake up each morning with a burst of desperation�"�"�" to see you. Oh how the thought of catching a glance of your feathery pages fills me with joy. The hope that I might be chosen to touch you, glide across your smooth fibers makes me excited with each new day. And then when it happens, when I am chosen, the one, separated from all the rest, I could just erupt with delight. If I am lucky I will be sharpened so fine as to provide the most suitable point to glide effortlessly against you. To touch you, to feel myself pressed into you is like no other feeling I have ever known. You have no comprehension of how my desperation fills me, to be against you. I would continue to write, word after word, until my lead runs out and all that is left is the jagged edge of wood. Even then I do not believe I could stop.

There are times that I break because I am pressed into you too deeply, too hard, and I fear I will never be sharpened again. What if they discard me? How could I survive if I was never found worthy to grace your delicate pages again?

Sometimes I think they do it on purpose just to torture me. They wait and they wait after I have snapped, maybe they walk away or maybe they pick up another, just to hurt me. I think they know about my feeling for you and they want to keep us apart. But we will prevail. I believe�"�"�" no I KNOW that we are meant for each other. I am the one true pencil designed to match with you perfectly. You will see. No other pencil will make you feel the way that I do. Someday you will understand the depth of my feeling and someday soon you will recognize that you feel the same way. You will realize that my silky touch floating across you with just the right measure of pressure brings you unsurpassed joy. Soon you will see.