｡･ﾟﾟ･dustycrayonbox･ﾟﾟ･｡

where do all the broken, used, pre-loved crayons go?

a dusty box in a storage room with the colors of your childhood stares back at you and suddenly you can feel the presence of your dead pets aroud you, the sounds of the filipino channel playing in the living room, and the faint chimes of your dsi probably wedged in a couch crevice. It feels cold and warm, sad and happy, complex and simple.