Gaze (not gays).

Slowly, with ease and precision, "it" turned and starred me down. I could feel the bristles deep gaze on me, through the wall. Through the kitchen fridge, and through my skull. "It" had many questions, and I could offer very few answers. So few answers that I decided not to reply to any of the asked.

The toothbrush wanted to know why it wasn't being used. It had been 8 months since the toothbrush had gone more then 36 hours without being used. The toothbrush had seen the one next to "it" being used more often then 3 times a day, sometimes an OCD amount of times, but "it" still stood... untouched. Waiting.

Although I did not excel in grammar in primary school, middle school, or high school, I know that "Waiting" is not a complete sentence. In my defense, sometimes don't you feel as though that's where you are, who you are, and what you are?

Waiting.