the scent of new crayons --
like that sweet inhale while cradling a newborn --
defies description... almost...
it’s a fresh start
potential
opportunity
gratitude for having this new, untouched -- something -- to create with, or to see what wonder it will create this world...
(was I that crayon, once?)
with use, they'll be rounded --
worn down
peeled
broken
stumps.
the smell will dissipate.
they’ll work the same as before, but without the promise and without their point.
(am I that crayon, sometimes?)
but crayons are meant to be used --
to create something that wasn’t here in the world,
before.
(aren’t we as well?)
too bad they can’t see what their use has created.
but I can.
and I know that it’s worth the trade.
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