I spent most of my life being carried around in your bag, hidden under everything else you keep in here. Keys, money, pens, hair clips and I hold our own little parties as you travel around (Did you know your travel hairbrush has a really big crush on that sleek black diary you sometimes carry?). Once in a while you decided needed me and you come rummaging in with your chipped nail polish and chunky rings, I tried to make myself easy to find but you would insist on moving things on top of me (might also have helped to remove the old receipts). You brought me into the light, would take my top off, twisting me to suit yourself then just as quick I was thrown back into the bag again. In the bag we had gotten used to random objects being thrown in with us, and as you often left the bag open we were used to strange rubbish ending up in here too. Never would we have suspected that one of those random objects would be the end of us. When did you noticed the smoke? Did you get injured as we burned at your side? Now we lie discarded on the rubbish heap, you rescued your purse but we have been abandoned. Oh well, we hope you life is carrying on okay (and the hairbrush would like to know how that sleek black diary is).