Crayon

I am a crayon in the possession of an enthusiastic and naive child. I am an off shade of blue that doesn't quite capture the sky's lightness nor doI posses the oceans deep beauty. So, inside that crayon box I lie, along with a few others. I lie diligently watching the other colors aide in fanciful and wondrous fruitions of the art of childhood. In the midst of the excitement the box, the one In which I reside untouched and perfectly sharpened is knocked onto the floor where we are distributed every which way beneath the toy chest in extraordinary misfortune. Little fingers poke an prod, saving each color his investigative fingers brush. But alas, I am far too away. I go unnoticed though. No tears shed for me. The ignorance is absolutely blissful. He returns to his art work and creativity without hesitation.

I'm alone, but you'll find me. Even if it is the day you move out and I'm half melted to the carpet, dusty and no longer perfect.