One Spring morning, while walking along a quiet, sunny sidewalk, I saw a fork lying on the ground. Its stainless steel part was no longer stainless, but the plastic, green handle, still smooth and beautiful.

It must’ve been useful at some point – seen diets come and go, felt someone savor the tastes and textures of celebrating a special occasion, or sometimes held back a tear, when used for eating slowly, only as fast as sadness and grief allowed.

Maybe it was used to feed someone who could no longer feed themself, or got to participate in carefully nursing a loved one back to health. But certainly, it was part of a household for many years, judging by its marks, scratches, imaginary smile and raindrop tears.

As it lay there on the concrete, after a brief and gentle rain, I imagined it reminiscing, while basking in the sun – wondering what came next, missing how it felt when life had just begun. Perhaps it was hoping, at some point, to again be safe, treasured and free, just like me.

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