The Lovely Preferences

A tin soldier ran up my wall and demanded that i set him free, he quarreled, and then he and me, we decided this shouldn't be.  his place was in the collection of arifacts i've taken from my grandmas drawer, that i mistook for a collection of mirrors no one wanted.  The tin soldier contemplated, he strained to find a protest, he knew he had no soul, but he no longer wanted to sit idley by.  In a days time he and I found a common ground, while he was plastered together, I was plastered too.  in this shell i called my body i was trapped in an everlasting coat of imperfection, while he would wear away the new paint would fade, and he would be a former shell of his former self, until eventually he gathered dust and became brittle and unrecognizable.  I don't mean to complain about the way the weather effected this decision, but maybe we're all a little to contemplative of our lasting impression.  This isn't meant to be all whithers and fades away, the speed all depends on the condition of its use.  And I reminded the toy that his decay was because of loves enduring grasp, and that though he felt crippled he can't forget the past joys and triumphs that will never pass away.