COLUMBUS, Ohio — Thousands of pens gathered in desk drawers, pencil cups, and at least one bank lobby Tuesday evening to hold a candlelight vigil for a blue ballpoint who has been riding uncapped in the inside pocket of a wool coat since April, sources confirmed.

The pen, known to colleagues as “Bic,” was last seen being slid into the coat after signing a dry cleaning receipt. It has not been capped, clicked, or acknowledged since. Friends say the ink on its tip has begun to dry, and that the lining of the pocket now bears what one mourner called “a pattern.”

“He had so much left to give,” said a felt-tip marker, speaking from a drawer in the accounting department. “He was at least 60 percent full. People don’t realize that.”

Attendees held small tea lights and stood vertically in mugs, the traditional posture of pen solidarity. A moment of silence was observed, though it was interrupted when a stapler in the next room jammed.

Dr. Marguerite Fenwick-Oyelaran, senior fellow in Stationery Bereavement Studies at the Institute for the Emotional Lives of Desk Objects in Dayton, said the incident reflects a broader crisis. “The modern pen is one hand-off away from oblivion,” she said. “It leaves a cup, enters a pocket, and from that moment its fate is controlled entirely by someone who has already forgotten it exists. There is no due process. There is only laundry.”

Dr. Fenwick-Oyelaran added that the coat’s owner, whom the pens decline to name, is believed to be “a decent person who simply has a lot going on.”

Not everyone at the vigil was in a mood to grieve. A ballpoint at the front desk of a downtown dental office, who asked to be identified only as “Front Desk,” told gathered pens to stay positive, noting that the pen chained to a string beside him is “doing fine.”

“He’s got a string,” Front Desk said. “He’s secure. He’s got a purpose. People use him all day.”

Other pens appeared skeptical. The chained pen, which has not been capped since the first Obama administration and now writes only in a faint scratching gray, was unavailable for comment, though it did swing slightly in the draft from an air vent.

“He’s not fine. He’s tethered. Those are two different things, and every pen in this room knows it.”

That was the response of a mechanical pencil, who spoke on behalf of the vigil and was immediately told by several pens that this was not his event.

Organizers said the evening ended with a traditional reading of the Pen’s Prayer, a short recitation that begins “Grant me the cap to return to” and trails off, as it always does, when someone walks in and takes one.

At press time, the coat had been hung in a closet for the summer, and the pen inside was reportedly still hoping to be found.