The Scratch of a Broken Pencil on the Margin

Dear Delyara, The lead in my pencil snapped while I was trying to write down a thought at 3:10 AM, but instead of sharpening it, I kept pressing the jagged wooden edge into the paper. It didn't leave a black line; it left a deep, colorless indentation—a permanent scar in the page that you can only see if you tilt the book against the yellow desk lamp. It felt so much more honest than words. Sometimes, the things that hurt the most are the ones we can’t find the ink for, the thoughts that just scratch around in the back of our heads in the middle of the night without ever turning into something someone else can read. I left the blank groove there, a small, hidden injury in our book of letters.