The cool rain battered the thin pane of glass separating life inside from that which thrived outside.
Mellow music drifted throughout the small room, almost making it bearable, while she confided to her pen.
It was rather presumptuous of her however to assume that her pen would want to listen, or deal with this slightly ostentatious scene.
Fortunately for her the pen
in all its inanimate perfection
allowed her to write down obscure feelings on the blank white surface.
Though some would say that this was due to a momentary lapse in judgment I would like to think that this show of kindness was the pen being momentarily understanding. Unfortunately
no one will ever know what exactly went on in the mind of the pen while she was using it but one can hope that it was not self pity.
Self pity is possibly one of the worst emotions readily available to humanity as it causes more hardships than necessary and results
inevitably
in the loss of happiness; even if it is just for a moment.
If anything, the pen should feel honoured, with all due humility unto her, that she trusts the pen enough to confide her innermost feelings to it, as no other person, or object for that matter, is given this much respect as it were.
