• The Oxford Comma

Autobiography of a Paper

I fell in love with her when I felt her scribbling her name on me in the corner of her textbook. Though she didn't notice me, I kept looking at the way her eyes sparkled each time she struck my surface with graphite. Though I was hidden beneath a layer of unused pages, I felt safe and worthy to be touched again.

She wasn't so nice to me during exams and I would blame those three hours that weighed heavily upon her fingers and worried brain, putting in every possible formula to solve the equations to the names of every king mentioned in history that she never knew. The pencil was her favorite weapon, and she would use it to write, and erase, and rewrite, and finally erase it again right after she covered those words with ink. My skin was rough and dry but filled with enough matter to please her teachers.

She graduated and made her parents proud, and pieces of me trapped in her old study books were either sold or given to someone younger to her for further use. I feared she would be lost in her new gadgets and forget me, and I would be on my way to become and antique piece in the dusty attic.

But then she proved me wrong. Love struck her, and she penned down her feelings in sweet smelling letters, wrapping it up with different colours of ribbons and sending them to her beloved. Some stayed unread, while others drifted one after another like the birds in the sky.

Her first heartbreak tore me up in pieces, and she burned those pieces down, reducing them into nothing but ashes. Droplets of her tears fell on me, and I wished I could catch them all, but alas it was too late. I started doubting the meaning of my existence, wondering if she would be happier without me.

My wondering grew old and just like I feared, I was sent to the old attic, accumulating dust and mites and emptiness. I kept blindly hoping to be discarded and completely forgotten, rather than rotting here in misery. Years passed by and she grew wiser and stronger and despite how she treated me, I was so proud of her achievements.

My love for her grew even more sweeter than honey. And she came back to me, dusted me off and carried me to her room. And laid me down on her table, filling me out again with words that flew straight from her gentle heart. I never felt so cared for ever in my entire short life span.

She turned me into a book with her name on it, and shared it with the world. She gave me the true love that I, a mere paper always deserved.

Sweedle D'Souza is a twenty-five year old graduate with a bachelor's degree in business administration, and is currently pursuing an MBA in human resource management. She is a native of Maharashtra and Karnataka. Receptionist by day and writer by night, she calls herself an impulsive scribbler of words. She has been writing stories, poems, and other forms of creative writing based on various topics from romance to female empowerment. She has also written articles for Project Life Quality, a non-profit for survivors of abuse. She loves to read, write, sing, learn new stuff, and spend time with kids and animals. Her personal slogan is, "I prefer quality over quantity."


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