Backspace.

There are only so many likes and perhaps and maybes you can say until it no longer cuts, but I am not made for definitions or permanent markers. I am only built with room for mistakes and gaps for redoing over, and over. I find comfort in knowing that I don't have to be sure, that I can cast the line with the possibility of retracing my actions before it's too late. 

I live in a world where the backspace button is conveniently placed, where we send bosses draft after draft, bouncing correction and constructive criticism back and forth so that we perfect everything that we do — word for word, and all punctuation. 

Backspace. 

I live around people who hang promises on a line, and get forgiven when they break them. 

Backspace. 

People pay to get their names off from the signed dotted line. 

Backspace. 

Even as I type this right now

Backspace, backspace, backspace.

I am not made for certainty or definition. I fit well in-between lines of ambiguity and pages that are blank with no margins.