I found a pencil today, a blue one. It seemed ordinary when I picked it up and carried it to school, but when I tried to write with it, something happened to me. Something I don't think I could ever explain, something so phenominally dreary I felt like bursting into tears right in the middle of class.

My eyes refocused slowly and I saw what it was what had caused this break down, under the glow of florescent a gold etching shimmered on the light blue pencil, two words written on the side, Marc Sulprizio. I felt my eyes tear up in class, I feel them tear up now. I stared at those words forever, hoping they might just disappear. No they stayed, and there they are still. And for a fleeting moment I saw him, My brother, I saw him as clear as day before me, and he was simply there. He was not trying to comunicate, he was just there, writing with the same pencil.

I dropped the pencil and it rolled across the table, and that moment disappeared. I suddenly felt hollow, but I didn't want to touch the pencil again, it hurt inside, it hurt so much. A little joy in a fleeting moment turned to pain so fast I didn't know the differance.

Now, the pencil is gone, I cannot find it, I'm lost and alone without it. I wish I knew where it was, so I could have that moment again and enjoy it. Yet perhaps it is lost...perhaps it never was his...

A week's full of hollow, for a few fleeting moments of feeling whole.