The pen I kept for seven years

Found it today in the pocket of my old jacket—still has that same cheap plastic grip, the one with the cracked tip. I don’t even remember buying it. Just know I used it to scribble notes on fogged-up ferry windows during winter runs. Kids in the back row always asked if they could borrow it. Never gave one away. Not because I was stingy—just didn’t want to lose the thing that reminded me I was still here, doing the same stupid job, holding onto something small.