Each time I change the empty cartridge in my ink pen, it feels like I have emptied several words. Strings of words and swirls that have flown through that nib over time.
An endless flow of those alphabets strung into words, sentences, and paragraphs of intentional flow.
It teaches me to look over them again and read them through, each time with a new fervor and depth.
Those words still left inside, a new full cartridge of ink waiting to be dipped into.
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