"Hello, how are you?" the eraser asked the pencil gently.

"I’m not your friend," the pencil snapped irritably. "I hate you."

"Why?" the eraser asked, surprised and hurt.

"Because you erase everything I write."

"I only erase mistakes," the eraser replied softly.

"That doesn’t make it right," the pencil said.

"But that’s my job. That’s who I am."

"Then your job is meaningless," the pencil muttered. "Writing is more important than erasing."

"Erasing the wrong is just as important as writing the right," the eraser said.

The pencil paused, then said quietly, "But I see you getting smaller every day…"

"That’s because I sacrifice a bit of myself every time I correct a mistake," the eraser said.

"I feel myself getting smaller too," the pencil admitted.

"We can only do something good for others when we’re willing to give up something of ourselves," the eraser said with a smile.

Then it gently asked, "Do you still hate me?"

The pencil smiled and replied, "How can I hate someone who gives everything for others?"

Every day we wake up, one day of our life is gone.

If you can’t be the pencil that writes happiness for others,

be the eraser that wipes away their pain,

spreads hope, and reminds them:

The future can be better than the past.

Be grateful. Always.