You collect these small things for memory,
you collect the large for show.
This has become habit, as you seek recognition for your findings.
But to no avail, your treasures and trinkets have no importance to others.
The small or big discoveries you make mean nothing to anyone else.
These precious gifts you hold dear,
are nowhere near.
This was all just your imagination.
This was all just a dream.
You have nothing and no one to live for.
This was just your fantasy.
YOU ARE READING
Sidetracking Through Our Lives
RandomPoints in my starting teenage life where I decide to willingly be a shit writer