Did you ever once stop to think that maybe I’d like some recognition too? When you get that essay back and there’s a big red “A” scribbled at the top, do you think to thank me? Of course not. To you I’m worth nothing, easily replaceable. To you I look just like all the others, which one you chose to use makes no difference. Nonetheless, my love for you is undying. The first time I was given the task of writing for you, I pledged my allegiance. Though I can’t say that it wouldn’t bring me great joy for you to return the favor. When you ask, “Where is my pencil?” I yearn to scream out “Here I am!” Perhaps it is pitiful that my heart skips a beat every time you refer to me as “yours”. My friends say to grow a backbone. But honestly, I don’t want to. I want you to choose me over the other more elegant mechanical pencils. I want it to be your idea that we are together. I know that I am only a lowly #2 wooden, though I hate classifications. Don’t you? Yes, I remember you saying that once. You probably didn’t expect me to be listening but every word you speak I cling to as if it may mean the difference between living and dying. I wish that you knew how I felt about you. Then maybe I’d have a chance at not being thrown away at the end of the year. I know how it goes, as soon as school is over you never want to see me again. If we’re being honest I can’t say that I really blame you. I know that I only represent work and stress and school to you but I beg you to look past that. See me for who I really am. All I want out of this life is to help you succeed, to be there when you need me. If ever you need to write down some girl’s phone number, I’ll be here. When you go to take your permit test, I’ll eagerly circle those answers for freedom. And if you don’t pass, I’ll shoulder the blame. When you drop me, I won’t complain. We can make this relationship work, you and I. Don’t you see that in your hand is where I belong?