|In better days...|
I miss you. I miss the sharpness of your wit, your edgy fashion choices (orange is certainly not for everyone, dahling, especially not as an every day signature look), I miss the way your bold style choices make your fashion crit of everyone else cut like... well... only you could.
While I can live without you for a whole, I can't live without you forever. Sure, sleeker, sharper, hell, even more effective models will come along and try to tempt me away from you, but life isn't the same without my hand in yours.
It feels like forever since I last saw you. I hoped you had just been hanging around someone else's desk, catching up on the office stationery banter, but I've come to realise that you aren't coming back. 'Maybe you're being held hostage,' I thought when you first left. 'Maybe it's only a matter of time before I get the ransom note. Maybe they'll even use you to cut up the letters for the demand.' I hung on to the hope for some time, but I see now that it's not like that. I've asked around - nobody seems to know where you've gone. You just up and left.
So, I've started to move on.
Now, instead of reaching for your sun-kissed handles when I need to divide a document, I reach for my purple ruler. Purple. The colour of the bruise you've left. It leaves a rough tear along one edge.
Now, when I need to slice through the tape on a box, I reach not for your smooth curves, but for a blunt pencil, a key, or even my earring.
You see? My life really is better with you in it.
** Edit: The day after I posted this, my beautiful scissors came back to me, after their prolonged abscence. Either they were kidnapped (scissor-napped?) and the 'napper felt pity after reading this, or the scissors themselves read it and understood I didn't mean it. Either way, they're back, and reunion is sweet!