The spectrum of feelings is wide. Ants scrabbling in my head. Acid flows down the leg bubbling from batteries in the lower back and soaking into the green moss. My gaze is directed at the sky. The metal in me starts to rust, but plastic parts are close to eternal. Emotionally it is a challenge - to realize that you were needed, to understand that you are abandoned, and to hope that you're lost. And to believe that you will be found. It does not matter who I am. A thrown away toy, a lost shoe, a rubber pig found in a train wagon or an unwanted book... I probably would like to be found. And knowing what on earth things are sought and what things are found in those newspaper advertisements, I just need to wait – one day it will all fall into place and someone will piece together my lost or abandoned existence with other’s searches or finds. And then a new story will come. With a new meaning. Thousands of stories have been written about meetings and rediscovered possibilities... These are usually about the love between people. I have not read any about the lost objects and emotions born of the meetings of their finders and seekers... But I could be wrong. After all, I'm only a plastic robot thrown out in the woods, and my gaze is directed in the sky. And the ants are prowling my head.