My life is tragic. It really is. I sit here all alone, in a bag, leaning slightly, but never touched. The dust that flies around settles on my side and at my base. Is this what my purpose is supposed to be? I want to be unrolled and used, to feel like I'm needed. Yet, here I sit. All by myself, minus the knick knacks that surround me. But wait! Is today the day? Will I finally be picked up and rolled out?. . . Sigh. I knew it was too good to be true. What is the purpose of being bought if I'm not going to be used? Bad thing is, this didn't use to be my existence. I was once unrolled and well loved. Now I sit alone.
My poor mat.