Paper

Paper. Blank. Lined. Graph. Rough, smooth; flat, wrinkled. Large, as a blueprint rolled out on the floor; or small, as a four-by-three card in my shirt pocket.

Five hundred years old and irreplaceable. Technology has its convenience, but with paper the battery never dies. The wifi never goes on the fritz. No software to install, no subscription to buy, no end user license agreement to agree to, no company that will go out of business and render it unusable. Ready for anything—writing, math, sketching, puzzles, games, paper airplanes, origami, composing symphonies, declaring independence, stamping manifestos, theories of relativity and subatomica, designing cathedrals, towers, skyscrapers... No age restrictions. No thought restrictions. Grows on trees. You can feel the weight of reading a paper book. Without Internet, you can focus again.

Paper. The cheapest thing I always have with me. Indispensable. A scrap of immortality tucked in the back of my blue jeans.