Once I was the object of desire and the stuff of dreams.
People went out of their way to ensure they had me in their life.
I had colour. I was on show.
You see me now on the ground.
I am written off. I am stained. Most people walk past and do not notice I am there.
There was a journey to this place. I have a story to tell.
Once I was so wanted. Now I am merely useful. Soon, even that will be gone.
Splattered. Trodden on.
I have no voice.
Someone might notice me and wonder.
N.B. This is my attempt at creative writing. It is no reflection on my current mood which is happy and upbeat. Can you guess what inspired it?