He is 94 years old,
And is ripped and chipped on all his edges.
And who can blame him after all he has seen?
I am his only friend,
But he is merely my acquaintance.
For though I am fortunate enough to come across him,
No one ever lasts as long as he.
And he must never get attached,
Because he is used to being given away so freely.
And though he was important to everyone at a time,
He has all but been forgotten by those who praised him.
Maybe a little boy scooped him up happily, then without considering him, spent him on a whim.
For though the boy is his friend, he is only considered an acquaintance.
Then someday, who knows, maybe my grandpa picked him up, gave him to my dad as a gift, only intrigued by the little boy’s reaction.
Again it was never heard.
Until it passed onto me, it’s old value gone.
But I listen to him and see the things that only he still sees in his dreams.
And I think how different the world would be, if only we paused and looked back on the things we deem so small.



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