It is so late,
Midnight in ten,
But I can't leave you,
Dear fountain pen.
Your ink has revealed
So many thoughts,
You have been here
Connecting dots,
Helping me figure out what I feel
By writing down words I would rather conceal.
All this advanced and new, shiny tech
With its impeccable auto-correct
It's trying to make you seem obsolete, old
When, in fact, I esteem you as gold.
Never ever will a bright screen feel
Like a spotless, blank page, that you steal
From a history notebook during the class,
Where you scribble your thoughts just to make the time pass.