The Paperclip

It is a slim thing. Not broad, but thin. Stored far from the eraser, it holds its place with honor. It is shrouded in mystery, looking up to the sky and staring into the Milky Way. It holds its prisoners in a very distinct way, caressing them, but not too tight, while the broad pages fall from the grasp of man, not towards the sky but towards the ground, beaten and bruised by his eraser and divided from every kind of mystery that man could write about with honor. But the paperclip retains its honor, even if the pages cannot. It continues to hold in such a way that it can glow with pride. Man is left in mystery, wondering how the pages do not escape, but continuing to use it in broad practices despite his ignorance. He writes too many words yet makes too many eraser marks and has not enough real thought to even touch the edge of the sky. But the paperclip, despite simple design, holds enough to reach this sky. It holds the world in itself with honor, while simultaneously holding nothing at all. The eraser can relate. Yes, in its own way, the eraser does hold the outcasts of the written society, any broad topic that has been discarded, its contents a smudged mystery. Yet it has nothing on the paperclip. Mysteri- ously, the paperclip fights its own existence. It is bent out of shape, turned into a bird of the sky or a fish of the sea while still expected to hold the broad range of tastes and textures that are contained in a single piece of writing. Honor is a thing of the past. It has gone away, chasing the light remnants of what the eraser stole. The eraser is thrown into the drawer with the broken pencil and the injured pen, wondering what mystery its life could have held if it had not been tossed out of man’s way like an unused paperclip. But this is not about the eraser. This is not about the sky that was taken away or a woman who was ripped from existence; no, this is about a creature of honor: a paperclip. It is about this little thing, not too broad but not too thin, broadening its horizons while containing them as the eraser is left alone. It is about honoring the mystery of the paperclip while the sun still shines in the sky, before man pushes that, as well, out of his way.