Hello, dear little cursor. Blinking away at the top of the page. Tantalizing me, teasing me, taunting me. 'Look at me!' you say. 'Aren't you going to do something about it? Fill my page with your thoughts? Go on. Invade my kingdom. I dare you.' Well guess what, cursor? I did! Now, your kingdom is slowly shrinking, being overrun by the words flowing freely out of the cavern that is my brain through the tools that are my fingers. I suppose that, in a way, you'll always truly have a kingdom, though. You will live on in the little spaces between my words. Your own little pockets of rebellions. And you'll still be blinking at me when I cease my attack. You'll look at me and say softly, 'So. Done then? Finished? Worn out? You've run your race, and it was a darn good one. Look at you now. Look at me now. Does this mean that you have taken me over?' I will shake my head, sigh lightly and regret clicking File, Print. Because then I won't see you, my friend, my cursor. You won't be there, blinking up at me. Maybe you weren't teasing me after all... Maybe, just maybe, you were waiting for me. Perhaps the blank page that i dubbed as your kingdom was really a meeting ground of sorts. You waited for me, and I came. You were that friend I needed to rant to, whether it be a diary entry, an epic adventure, or a heartbreaking romance. Now, dear little cursor, you're keeping up with me now. You don't blink when I bleed, but when the cut closes into an ugly scar, you begin to blink again, as if to say, 'Go on. Tell me how you feel. I will always be here. Always.' And I'll open back up. I will bleed over the plastic keys or the smooth paper until the wound is healed. So thank you little cursor. Thank you for healing me.