And for everything lost and everything gained, I feel like I am holding a mere penny. One with ridges and stains and a surprising 1993. Chips and scars, not from the sticks and stones, but the words. My little hands can hardly fit around it, leaving me empty and unsatiated. Some may say that I still have the memories. What if that’s not what I want everything to be? What if I am nostalgic because I wish that I kept those moments as moments for longer?
My future is coming and apparently in that future pennies shouldn’t worth anything. My penny has no value. If it has no value, how can I have the prestige to say I myself have value? Sadly though, I cannot get the motivation to get myself a new penny. Nor do I think I could spend it on a wishing well.
No comments:
Post a Comment