The Pencilbox

There was a time..
When all I could wish for was a Pencilbox..
A shiny one..
With buttons..
To press and impress..
Swirling like the dress.
Dreaming night and day..
Where every second the thought would stay.
How I could land into this box full of play.
I ended up never owning one..
But suddenly that wish..
Seems to be now an innocent display..
Where wanting wasn’t owning per say.
And now even when it’s over and beyond the Pencilbox..
All that’s left over..
Is why can’t I have the things..
That I had back in the day..

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