Unbreakable
I have shredded, slack rubber bands lying all around my apartment because I can’t bear to throw them away. I use one for months at time, giving it prime location on my left wrist instead of a watch, like I measure my time by how worn the rubber band is rather than by the spins of a dial, until it squeaks every time I pull it taught, threatening to break as I fill it full of unruly brown hair. And when they no longer can handle the wild of my hair I still cannot pitch them out. I use them to fasten cables together, to group tapecassettes together, to keep my cord from falling behind the desk, anything but death. And each and every one, to their dying day, holds on as tight they can to whatever bits of my life need sorting out, bringing thing together and keeping them stable for as long as possible. An this, this great contribution to society, the good that rubber bands have done, is so significant, that even when they snap into pieces and cry out for death, I cannot throw them away. I put them in a drawer and pull them out from time to time to play games, because I will always believe that the things that hold your life together are worth keeping around as long as possible.