Stove

I don't realize your presence, only sometimes you cross my mind. I don't really use you, only when I cook noodles or make cake but that rarely happens. You're stained. We leave you like that. We care when you break down and when there is a chance you might burn the bottom of our pots, would be the only time we look in your direction. It fills me with sadness grandmother, to see you wasting away; when only we care and they don't. It's not enough.