Everything is Write

When you hold me everything is right. We are wonderful. It doesn’t matter what we do together, it is what we are together. I glide, you push, I slide. We enjoy the shapes of each other, the feel of each other and occasionally we create magic.

Oh, we’re not neat; I’m almost entirely illegible, often deliberately so. Well, everyone wants a bit of mystery in their lives, don’t they? I can’t have you reading me that easily. It’s not attractive to be an open book.
   We make so much. Sometimes it’s just a shopping list, but sometimes we capture a scrap of an idea or the shape of an emotion or a furied-out first draft.
   I have rivals. The laptop and I have an uneasy understanding. I am the beginning and he is the end. I’m the creation and he is the conclusion. I know I have to share you, can’t have me in your hand all the time. There are some that I find harder to forgive. You might be neater with a biro or pencil, but you’re a lot less free. I’m sliding and smudging and downright messy. And you love it.
   It’s because of my rivals I have to disappear from time to time. I’ll slip into unused pockets and to the bottom of bags quite deliberately. I enjoy your fevered hunts for me, I like that you have to grudgingly use others. I leave so that I’ll be missed, so that I remain special. But I’ll always come back to you and, oh, the reunions, how I dance in your hands.