In my life, my glasses are a huge part, even if it doesn't seem like it. (This is in the perspective of my glasses)
Each day, I start off in a new place. Between couch cushions, under a loaf of stale bread in the kitchen, or on the dresser are some places I have rested at in the past few weeks. I am dingy everyday of the week. I silently beg to be cleaned but I am rarely heard. By the time I am found in the morning, I am stuffed into the side of a backpack, soon to be scrambled for at the 8:25 bell, if I am lucky.
Some days, I patiently wait all day in my owner's home. Either way, I am taken for granted.
What does it say that my owner is not even wearing me right now? Am I that invisible?
On a normal day, I am taken off after school and stuffed in a new home: a different bag. Before I am removed, I witness my owner scarf down a snack and occasionally get a bit of marinara sauce on me here and there. I sit uncomfortably with an assortment of objects. My owner has to work soon and hopefully she remembers to put me back on.
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