I'm a collector.
Of what, you may ask?625Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMa6ewekmq6
Of everything, my dears! I have closets full of buttons and binder of old receipts; I have a bed made of bird feathers and a blanket of old strings. My jars are filled with dirt and sand I gather in my shoes, and jacket pockets filled with buttons and zippers.
I don't know when or why this started, but I've been collecting for years. Sticks from the boughs of trees, old keys that have long lost their locks, anything I come across that someone doesn't own, I claim.
My friends say that I have a problem, say I'm a pack rat. They just don't understand; I'm giving these objects new life, a new purpose! And it's not stealing if no one claims any of what I have as theirs! I wish they understood sometimes.
But, well, I suppose they're not the best of friends if they yell at me to "get rid of all my junk". I'm just a collector, why don't they understand? They should understand!625Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyioxtf0sGZ
I'm a collector, and I recently got a few new prized possessions, things that put all my other collections to shame.
I'm a collector. Of what, you may ask?
Of human souls, my dears!
That got dark. No more creepypastas for me, for a while, I think! ^.^'625Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJqAxmHn0Ka
