One last breath - the paper flies.

I have just consumed the 4th last piece of foolscap.

Sigh, I thought I had just started with a new pad of foolscap paper only so recently. We would think it is almost sad, even pitiful, that it lived its life completely the reverse of a photo album.

It doesn’t collect treasured memories. And it doesn’t get more valuable, more beautiful each day.

Pages, torn from this pad, are mercilessly scratched and defaced, then tossed to that green, orange, blue, or this colourless file. Colour coded, they are the respective recycling bins – one for biology, one for chemistry, one for mathematics, and one for literature. Miscellaneous fragments are simply littered around those bins. Don’t you see it now? What horror. The infiltration of consumerism and company.

I noticed the 3 pieces of paper left, and the sadistic lightening of my mood. While it is an affirmation of how much work I have done (I rarely doodle, anyway), it also reflects the foolishness all this while. I mentioned earlier that it doesn’t collect treasured memories. Yes, perhaps it doesn’t collect treasured memories, but, as it becomes barer, it takes on more wholly the form of a mirror. Past memories glare into you. You must certainly have remembered that moment of frantic copying, or that time-shift – the dubious 15 minutes interval between the two lines of words. Those fifteen minutes: The wonderful experience of manipulating space-time, travelling back from dreamworld in what felt like only a blink.

Yes that foolscap truly grates me. It is a puzzling object that I can’t comfortably grapple with – I will never, in my sanity, tear it apart. But I had never liked associating with the foolscap either.

2 pieces left actually, I had thought 3 – a friend must have consumed one just now.

2 units of time left, before that pad of foolscap expires. We can almost hear them, clinging on tenaciously to the adhesive spine, “…till death do us apart”. About time, I’ve about 2 pages of work to do now.

Exeunt.