I'm like that old first toy the little boy doesn't want anymore, but that when he first got it, he loved it. Now daddy's come with a new toy in his hands and gives it to his child. The boy looks at it and smiles. He sees just how much it shines, with it's brand new plastic parts and it's brand new package. How nice it smells, like when you get into a new car and you sit down, you relax and you say 'It smells like new!'. He enjoys every second of admiration and contemplation to his new adquisition. He analizes it, studies it and tries to learn all he can about it to start playing with it. Meanwhile, here I am. In the bottom of the toys' box. Old, wasted, not shining anymore and the glow I once had is lost in time. But none of this matters, 'cause no matter how many new toys the boy gets, no matter how much more beutiful they are, no matter how much more shining they are, the boy will never throw me away. Despite all, he won't get rid of me, because even though I cannot compensate for all that new glow and shining, I will always have a place in his heart, and every once in a while he'll come to me to play, or maybe just to take a good look at me and remember that time when I was new and shiny. And then, he'll put me back to where I was and where I belong. The cold, dark bottom of the toys' box.
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This could be me
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Or this...
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Or this :'(...
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