A Pen

I guess a pen would represent me; the ink is my life. If I were not well taken care of, if I were made to stand and never to rest (in a horizontal position), and if I fall hard on the ground, then I would never work as effectively and as efficiently as I used to when you first held me. Just like a pen, if I fall so hard on the ground, I would work but not that fluidly anymore; you would see how much I’m ruined and shaken inside. If you try to sip my ink back just like what a child would do if his pen won’t work anymore, then try harder because getting me back from where we set off takes a lot of patience and if you do it the wrong way, you might as well regret coming back for me as the ink would spurt in your mouth.