About things and feelings.

Things break.

I’m used to breaking lots of glass cups, earphones, cellphones, even parts of my body, but the thing is that I don’t really care about them.

One day I found out that my mom accidentally broke a mug that my father gave to me. I got really upset… Like mad, almost insane. I started screaming with her and saying all kinds of things. It was the reaction of having an object that meant something being broke and the fact that my mom didn’t tell me, she hid it from me.

Yesterday I was getting on a bus and the doors started closing at my backpack. I managed to get in quickly so I wouldn’t be stuck at the door. Today I found out that the closing doors broke my mechanical pencil.

The mechanical pencil that I was using for three years now. The mechanical pencil that has the same color of the mechanical pencil of the guy the I liked when I bought it. The mechanical pencil that I use for all my drawings.

My mechanical pencil broke and I feel heartbroken.