There’s a fork in the drawer that I avoid.

I never grab it and use it.

Every once in awhile, it ends up being handed to me by a member of my family for me to use to eat a meal.

No one knows my aversion.

I suppose it’s silly to have an aversion to a fork.

I have feelings and emotion tied to it.

It’s this thing in my house that represents someone.

Someone who is an important part of who I am.

And yet, I can never bring myself to pick that fork out of the drawer.

I don’t like that fork.