Michelangelo and the Pen
Writing notes on actual paper, the kind that rubs the palms of the hands, with a pen filled to the brim with smooth running ink, is like etching thoughts onto the mind like God's fingers on stone. Minus all the constant scratches and cross-outs, a bizarre map pointing to a deliberately innocuous key to the most inane treasure. Every measured mark on parchment is a covenant forming between now and then: a covenant to remember what was left preserved for the hands to trace and the eyes to meet. So I'm in a wee bit of an impasse: once I've finished writing this letter meant for you, do I send it through or keep it for personal use, my own memento ...