You picked me up like something small and shining, turning me over in your hands as if I existed just to be noticed. You pressed your fingerprints into me, and I learned your touch like a language—how you brought me to life, how I only seemed to matter when you were looking.

I didn’t question it. I didn’t mind being the thing you reached for when the silence got too loud. You wound me up with your attention, and I gave you everything I was without asking what would happen when you stopped.

And you did stop.

No warning, no slow fading—just absence. The hands that once held me like I was something special simply forgot I was ever there.

Now I sit where you left me, not broken, just untouched. Still holding all the life you started in me, with nowhere for it to go, remembering what it felt like to be wanted… and how easily you decided I wasn’t anymore.