Here's something I wrote last night, on a whim. It's just a metaphor, I don't actually have the hobby of finding leaves and pressing them into books. It's your job to figure out the metaphor.

TORN PAGES

 

I love to collect leaves and press them into books. Bright colors immortalized forever, living in great memory as a monument of some of the best moments in history.
     Yes, I love to collect leaves.
         Today I found an exceptionally red one, and took it home to press it into my memory book. On my way to my house I saw lots of brown leaves piled into a gutter or run over in the road. Those leaves weren't kidnapped as the one in my hand had been, but they sure didn't look pretty. They're essentially dead leaves.
         Now, leaves with color symbolize life and change, ever reminding us that there's plenty to look up to. But those leaves are few. There are plenty more brown leaves serving to remind us of the bad things in life. It's our job to ignore them.
       It's the same way with people. There are so many that have been "run over" so much that they can't remember what it was like to be truly happy. And that is just plain sad. There's the occasional optimist, a red, yellow, orange, or green leaf, but all the brown leaves ignore them. They're trying too hard not to get run over again.
       Then there are the trees. They stand steadfast and watch all that goes on, though trees move far too slowly to be able to do much about it. They are at the top but still distant from the rest of the others, leaves or otherwise. But they also notice more about the leaves than the leaves themselves and try to keep future leaves from making the same mistakes. For instance, blowing into the street because everyone else is: not a good idea. The trees don't always succeed in their quest, though. Everyone has advantages and disadvantages.
      I often like to think of myself as a tree.
      I finally made it into my house, kicked off my shoes, shrugged off my jacket, and went to find my memory book. Flipping slowly through the pages, I remembered all that happened every day that I brought leaves home. 
      Eventually I came to yesterday's leaves, laughing at the memory of the jokes my friends and me had, how silly we made ourselves look. I turned the page again. Yesterday took up two pages.
      And that's where I stopped, staring wide-eyed, open-mouthed, aghast. Staring.
      Someone has ripped out  a page.





And that's it. So yeah, the first raw material I've posted up here, before I've even done any revising. Enjoy.