• I am to be no longer here, I am written word- I am to be lost. Transferred, I am to that of the memory of a computer’s brain. When the power is cut, my message is lost- whatever happened to the written words? Needed am I as a virus is found; maybe I should have been kept around. You curse at the screen- why don’t you smear some ink, and smooth what you feel within. Your smile is upside-down as your words are not found, within the electronic file you stuck them in. the computer is trashed, your words are recycled- will I ever be found worthy of light again? The computer, now useless- pens no longer touched, you no longer result to just free flowing words. Facts back the word I, facts follow what it is you praise. You lost your will to think freely. Your mind is a library- one you would do anything to stay. Silently my ink fades- when the day you pull me out again- hardly anything remains on the first page- only the title remains. You flip through your notebooks- wide eyed and shocked.

    “I wrote this?” you mumble “I must have been stuck.” You place us in plastic, then place us in glass. We are now… displayed? You’re lost words written by pen not printer- the last words by your free brain.