Maybe the pencil we hold
while writing the story of our lives
has an eraser tip
not so much to get rid of
the parts we don’t like,
but to remind us that our days
will always be made
of beautiful mistakes
and lessons so great.
Like the shade of red my daughter used
in her colouring book that was a little too bright,
Or like that time I missed my flight.
The eraser she used
didn’t get rid of the red.
It made it pink instead,
and pink was her favourite shade.
I got to sit down at the airport cafe
where our favourite song coincidentally played.