Literature
Memoirs of a Butterscotch
I'm sorry but I am very old, therefore my memory is a bit faulty.
But I believe this is how the story goes:
Summer, or was it spring? Either way, it was warm. Yes, very warm.
I was crammed on the shelf with friends and even a few siblings.
All of us, whispering to support one another, "Don't worry, it will be the next person!"
Even though, deep down, it was ourselves that wanted to be picked up and held for a lifetime.
I remember her, looking up at me.
She was so young and bright
I knew she was the one.
Then she wrapped her hands around me
and took me down off the shelf.
"Goodbye!" "Have fun!" "Don't forget me!"
I heard some of