Ghost of a Broken Toy

Who am I to you? A friend? Perhaps more than that, probably less. Do I go too far as to suggest an enemy? I don't think I'm anything to you, I'm... just there. I may make you happy sometimes, maybe give you a laugh, or I might make you angry; But it never stays that way for long, does it? Like I said, I'm just there. I'm a ghost. Sometimes you hear me, sometimes you don't; sometimes I exist, sometimes I don't. But you know deep down, I annoy you either way. When I don't make you happy you don't want me around, and I'm not sure if you want me around even when I do. Well I'm sick of it. What right do you have to decide when I am? Am I not good enough? Why don't I compare with the others, the ones you let exist? Sometimes I think you forget that I ever existed at all... I'm like some old toy. After a while, you get tired of it, play with it less and less, until you forget that you ever had it in the first place. Question is: once its gone, will you remember me? Will you realize you miss it? Or instead, that it was never worth it to begin with? I hope it's the latter.