If you were to look into my pencil box in my younger days, you'd notice a lot of midget pencils. A one-inch midget to be exact. However, its destination is not a direct flight to the dustbin, oh no. They remained in my pencil box. Plenty of two midgets stapled together by their feet. But as time passed with more pencils were lovingly used, my pencil box couldn't accomodate the overpopulation of these midget pencils. So it was migrated to my drawer.
[lame poem ahead *swt*]
You can't use them anymore,
and they are just an eyesore
so go and throw them away!
the exasperated mother would say
and the girl protested with dismay,
but they just helped me the other day!
so how could i treat them with ingratitude today?
and so its departure i tried to delay.
[omg, this is what happens if ye stop writing poems for 3 years!!!]
Carefully considering the pencil's feelings. Heck, I think of objects' feelings more than I do for human's. Sometimes when I touch an object, something will run up the inside of my arms, often willing me scratch that object. Yea, I scratch a lot of my stuff. Yes. *scratch scratch* I'm just that weird brained kid.
So, my room is what would be commonly known as a junk center. A hamster hoarding seeds that will not bloom. It wasn't only pencils, but little scraps of papers that I treat as a good luck charm, interesting shaped stones I found, broken toys that I refused to throw and much more.
But soon, year after year I started cleaning out my room. One by one, these 'junks' are thrown away, a sudden disappearance from what I used to treasure. At first it was done with a heavy heart. Soon I learnt how to block these guilty feelings.
And they're gone. Just like that.
It's weird that I'm thinking of them now. Especially the pencils. The one who assisted me in my first A ever in Standard 1. The one who was scribbled angrily in a written argument between friends, and the paper it was used on was crumpled and thrown back and forth in a fury of childish dissatisfaction.
I'm not longing to return to the past by the way. No matter how much I miss those times, and say if I had the chance to go back, I'll say," Thanks but no... I'm still a bit screwed up now, still a bit awkward and the worse thing is I wouldn't truly want to exchange it with anything else."
That's just the idealist side of me speaking though. I locked Logic away at the moment so it won't interrupt Idealist again. Harrumph.