“Dear Pen,

I´ve been thinking about the trip we made together on the crumbling, trembling surface. Where you lost your ink and I became afraid of everything.
That pond, where your ink sank into the depths of the dark muddy water.
I tried to catch it with my hands and it diffused into the cracks of my fingers and escaped through the gaps.

Since then, spending time with you has felt less meaningful.

I feel as if I don´t understand you any longer. You lost your language. Became mute.
Your transparent skin only shows the void of what once was, the structure that maintained your content, the metal wires and the transparent plastic tube.

Where is your language now?”