Covered with dust, flickered with cobwebs, under stacks of monopoly, scrabble and glass giant chess lies my 56 coloured crayon set that my parents got me when I was in grade 6.
Going through a new crayon set, so pristine; so perfect, is a core memory.
Oh and the smell of the new crayons smells like winter for some reason.
Going through a new crayon set, so pristine; so perfect, is a core memory.
Oh and the smell of the new crayons smells like winter for some reason.