I find myself in a plastic box, shiny and new. Polished and waiting for someone to pick me, to choose me over all the other toys in the store. All shiny and new and waiting. Waiting and hoping that I have the brightest colors, the most exciting game, a wow factor that the other toys lack. Then there he comes. The boy, excited and rosy cheeked. The fact that he can pick out a new toy, take it home, and play with it as much as he wants excites him. After all, the other toys in his toy box at home, are old and dull now. He wants something new. Rows and rows of toys. And he can have any of them at his choosing. The power also excites him. He picks up my box, removes me from my shelf, and takes me home. I am his personal toy, replaceable, but good enough for right now. I am excited, I finally have someone to play with. Someone to take care of me, and love me.

Time goes by and I am back in a box. A new box. A dark box. His past. A box full of other toys, and I am just one out of many. He plays with me sometimes, when he isn’t busy with his new toys. I’ve lost my shine, and I’m cracked here and there. And he doesn’t notice. He just keeps going back to the Toy Store.

Michaela Says,

All I want is to be wanted. All the time. Not just when it’s convenient.

…I’m afraid to be forgotten.