So I'm just another story you happened to read while taking the subway. I am the dirty piece of newspaper that had been nearly folded and stuck behind a seat. My folded corner has yellowed and weathered with time. I used to hear people talking, lovers whispering, punks humming but it has been quite some time since I have seen them. I wanted to feel the crisp zesty breeze tingling me and making me sway and make crackling sounds.
You picked me up that day and unfolded me. I thought to myself that finally I'll feel the breeze again and yes I did too. But didn't know that all you used me for was wiping your sweaty forehead and throwing me on the corner of some street only to be trampled upon by passer-bys and garbage collection trucks.
