And so it came to pass, that all of the toys in the house mixed with all of the other toys, until they became one integrated whole, one massive field of multi-colored plastic and cardboard, scraps of paper and twine, loose crayons, pencils, lonely blocks of Lego and Duplo, spare Lincoln Logs next to fake vegetables next to tiny Strawberry Shortcake accessories on top of a very realistic Dora the Explorer and her friends, sitting beside Ariel the Little Mermaid with her interchangeable tails waving at Diego and his adventure car parked next to Hello Kitty‘s house next door to a perfectly affable Playmobil family and their two-story home, all amidst so many assorted books and bouncy balls and beads and marbles, playdough, stamps, stickers, stuffed animals, games, puzzles, and musical instruments of all variety, all made with gentle care for small, eager hands.
Once unique, new, and sparkling in their packaging, these toys now co-mingle, naked, brushing rudely against each other, congregating throughout the house, hiding in every corner, peeking out from under every chair. Humble and equal, they have lost their originality, their individuality, reduced to a common, seething mass, as day by day, week by week, month by month, this grand toy armada shifts and shimmers, their orders a mystery.
And finally, eventually, it happens. These faded, chipped, and broken toys let out a collective sigh, and quietly collapse into one enormous pile of molecules.
Free of their bonds, now completely nameless, these tiny pieces of matter drift lightly skyward. They beckon to the call, like birds flying south, driven by some secret code at their core.
Up they float, past the clouds, out into the universe, home again amongst the stars.
They leave nothing behind, to the great chagrin of all.
And they can’t wait to do it all again.
And so it is written.
And so it shall be.