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, she cried. 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.
And I, I got to sit down at the airport cafe where our favourite song coincidentally played.