When I slid open that aging drawer, I expected to see something familiar and unremarkable. Perhaps a bundle of embroidered handkerchiefs, an old necklace knotted beyond repair, or a handful of spare buttons kept “just in case.” What I didn’t expect was a collection of nearly thirty small plastic pieces, each slightly different in shape. Some were gently curved, others straight, most of them tinted a dull yellow from years of use. They were clearly meant to belong together — yet I had no idea why.
They didn’t appear ornamental, and they didn’t immediately suggest any practical purpose either. Still, I couldn’t shake the sense that these objects had once mattered. That they had been part of someone’s routine, something used again and again without question.
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