I had two separate bags that had multiple flushes each (one did 4, the other 5!) and instead of retiring them, I decided to bust 'em up, combine 'em, rehydrate the resulting mix, and spread it out in one of my bins. Needless to say, it wasn't ready to give up yet...
If I take a pen and a piece of paper, and I place the pentip to that page the ink will bleed and we will have... A dot. To us, it is just that: a dot. For the pen has been lifted away and placed elsewhere, perhaps, to write a new line. But to the page? To the page, that dot is the very definition of "a pen," as that single point is the only point at which it has experienced a pen, the only place in which the two have met. To us, a dot. The impression of a pen, the mark it has left. To the page, a pen.
I am the dot.
Just a note I woke up to this morning after an interesting journey last night. Hopefully the feeling behind it shows through, and the words make sense.