This truth is as follows:
Inside the Foam Cabinet is everything; all answers, all emotions, all connections...
Everything that makes me who I am.
There is a second, equally important part to this truth:
The Foam Cabinet is confusing.
The Foam Cabinet has many flaws. (Such as, the Foam Cabinet CAN catch on fire. I learned this recently.)
That being said, the Foam Cabinet revealed something peculiar. A commonly-used object of incredible purpose and simplicity.
That's right. The Foam Cabinet is home to none other than the black Sharpie.
Why?
Why not?
A black Sharpie means a lot to me; a lot more than a mere tool of yet-to-be-unleashed creativity.
It symbolizes possibilities, and what I've done with these options.
It reminds me of my past reactions to weird emotions.
It tells me stories of far away creatures... (not really)
It creates a sense of question in my soul.
Sharpies are generally happy objects.
They certainly make me joyous.
However, when the Foam Cabinet showed me this Sharpie at this particular time in my life, I felt a painful stab at my ego. I am not better than anyone else. No one else is better than anyone else. We all ought to be loved, respected, and cared for.
What does this have to do with a Sharpie?
Sharpies claim to be permanent. They can be... but only on specific textures, or applied in particularly painful ways.
Friends claim to be permanent. They can be... but only if you trust each other enough to stay together, and work through a painful situation instead of running away from the problem.
Life claims to be permanent. It can be... but only if the right Person is followed, or else that life could disappear quicker than the blink of an eye.
And so on.
This, that, and all the rest...
Sharpies are quite nice.
