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I lost my knife. My first knife. I got it randomly as a gift ages ago. I lost it today. I‘ve never felt this empty before.
I‘m glad it wasn’t anything more important, I‘m glad this is yet the most empty I‘ve felt. Yet, I cherished it. Truly, I did. I loved that worn piece of metal barely sharpened so much. I don’t even have a picture. I could buy another—nay, it’s not the same. I like I should buy another and return it, to its previous owner, or gift it to someone else. Make due for my negligence.
God, why,—why is it me,—and why is it always the little things?
Why do you wish to see me petty such that none may pity small love and honesty?
I‘m glad it wasn’t anything more important, I‘m glad this is yet the most empty I‘ve felt. Yet, I cherished it. Truly, I did. I loved that worn piece of metal barely sharpened so much. I don’t even have a picture. I could buy another—nay, it’s not the same. I like I should buy another and return it, to its previous owner, or gift it to someone else. Make due for my negligence.
God, why,—why is it me,—and why is it always the little things?
Why do you wish to see me petty such that none may pity small love and honesty?
