Wait…What Am I Doing Here?

There I sat in a forgotten corner. Deprived of the sky, the rain. Everyone called me pretty, then moved on. I was the unwanted. The flawed. Because I had a straight end unlike my friends’ curvy ones.

Until she found me.”Gimme the cheapest one,” she said, and the shopkeeper quickly handed me over with a sigh of relief. She opened me over her head, fighting the wind and rain; I tasted life. She didn’t mind my straightness.

My new home was next to a pile of books. The books told me stories. They told me tales of near and far lands. So I began to daydream. I wanted to see the world, to go places, to roam around. The dust-coated periodic table hanging on the wall gave me the idea to possess her. And that’s what I did.

My heartfelt desire reached her at some point for she suddenly picked me up one rainy day, and went out. Then again on a sunny day. And many days after that. The sky and the world were more beautiful- and way simpler- than my friends claimed. When I often let go of my possession of beloved owner, she suddenly starts thinking, “Wait…what am I doing here?”

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