Like a toy a child has outgrown.
Like a hobby, given up and forgotten.
Like a chair, left in a corner to collect dust and decay.
Like a lost dream.
Unwanted, un-needed, different.
No reasons for being forgotten, but we are.
We are passed by, day by day, without so much as a glance.
Used to it, we understand. But the hurt is unavoidable.
We want to be needed, to be wanted.
But we are forever doomed to set in the corner, and gather dust.
Left to die, unknown, uncared for.