What’s the oldest thing you own? (Toys, clothing, twinkies, Grecian urns: anything’s fair game.) Recount its history — from the object’s point of view.
It’s been years since you picked me up. I still remember the day that you first saw me. Your eyes glistened as we touched, and you held me as though I was sacred. And your smile made me feel so essential, so valuable, as though my existence brings you happiness. But all beginnings are sweet and all beginnings have ends. Now you only look at me a few times a year when you clean your room. You move me around as you move your other belongings. You move me, you moved me, until one day you threw me away.