Here Lies Pencil

I miss my pencil.  It was taken from me, not literally, but its soul was taken away.  Its essence.  OK, its pencil lead.  I dropped it, it escaped and ran away from me, into the afterlife, office supply heaven.  Since my pencil had passed away, I had to replace it.  I asked for something to write with, and in return I was given a Starbucks pen.  I had trouble getting along with the pen.  I hate Starbucks.  But after time, I adjusted to the pen and I had to live with it.  Whenever I'd make a mistake, I couldn't fix it.  The pen would only say, "tough shit."  Then I'd have to scribble over the mistake, cover it up, and live out a lie, something I didn't mean to write.  But lying never covered it up.  Past the lie, the mistake is still legible.  I want my pencil.  Unlike my pen, the pencil was more honest and easier to work with.  It was very comfortable to be with and the pressure to the paper showed our passion to write.  Its eraser was soft, but tough, it was like the hand of God erasing my sins.  It is, but what's the use when the pencil is out of use, the pencil, my pencil, is dead.  I want my pencil.  I want to revive its soul.  I would love to be reunited with my pencil again.  I would love to love it again.  I loved my pencil, and I love my pencil.  Please forgive me pencil...