My Pencil Box

Today I found my very first pencil box.It possessed no sophistication with any figurines of Barbie or Tom and Jerry.But,it had this picture which I drew when I was four years old.In the picture I found a house,an arrowed heart and a tree.I opened my pencil box and found my  camel crayons.My fingers felt the crayons which I held many years back.Nostalgia crept in.I held a broken red crayon,tapered at one end,trying to recollect my small self desperately trying to add red color to an uncolored object.The tapered end concretised the hard work I had put in as a kid.Next,I held another crayon-yellow.It lied unused.Perhaps my small self had disliked using it.Moving on to the pictures that I drew now portray the vitalities of existence.My four year old self had no idea about the significance of these simple objects.They stand as objects easy to draw but as an adult I feel that these objects keeps you alive,keeps you going on.Nature,love and house.But,the thing that caught my eyes was the very bold proclamation of my possession-"My Pencil Box",written in red, underlined and signed.Perhaps my saying stands as a mild utterance that this simple broken box is mine.It clearly portrays the innocent love of a four years old for a pencil box.The pencil box stands as an entity reminding me of my innocence,it helps me to actually contrast the childish immaturity with the  complications,secrets and quirks that we  now find in all mature functioning adults.