Bare love

I feel special sitting on the most honoured place of the bed. Right in the middle of a bright, fluffy, pink pillow. Where everyone can see me when they walk in the door. She always leaves me for last when she is making her bed. Adding me like you would add a cherry on top of an ice cream Sunday to complete the image created by the ice cream, toped of by the sauce but not complete until the cherry had been placed. I love how I get to sleep cuddled in her arms, snuggled deep under blankets. Protected and safe from harms way, if I was ever to be thrown where the other animals spend there nights all that would be left of me would be stuffing. I almost burst my stitches with pure pride to see the others thrown over the side of the bed to lie in a pile stacked on top of each other, in the dark and cold. How they must itch with envy to know I am loved more. It’s not me exactly that she loves it’s who and what I represent. It’s how I found myself leaning against a pink pillow.

I remember my life before I had come here. I was one of many bears waiting to be found and loved. Sitting on a shelf, my days where spent watching people walk in and out of the flower shop sometimes I would glaze expectedly at a person when they come close but never was it my day to be bought. I remember him coming into the shop, his eyes focusing on me. Lifting me up of the dusty shelf, I watched as the other bears continued to stare, as he paid. I found a world I never knew existed as we walked out of the shop I used to call my home. One so busy and bursting with life. I was happy with this strange boy but I soon realized I wasn’t for him to love but I was to be for someone he loved. I had my own seat next to him in the weird moving box And was picked up as it came to a stop, my legs dangled as he put me behind a firm arm and I found my surroundings become blurred and the air rushed past me. There was a loud noise and footsteps coming closer as he moved me behind his back. I was bought around his side to face a girl, with a shocked expression on her flushed face. She wasn’t looking at me but at him her expression filled with pleasure.

My pink ribbon is always neatly tied in a perfect bow, and if she found it untried she would take such care to return it to its original state. I’ve watched with interest as she goes about her life, practicing her music, it’s like a lyaby and I find myself sleepy every time. Many times she’s Rushing of to school or running around franticly looking for something she has lost. Sometimes she comes in crying and it hurts me to see her in pain. She puts the radio on and lies down next to me cuddling me against her fast beating heart. It makes me glad to know I am comforting her. Other times when her room becomes a play ground for hundreds of people laughing and joking. Bags thrown everywhere and sometimes I find one flung on top of me which is incredibly irritating. Many times I’ve been violently sent flying though the air, landing with a soft thud as I hit the door. This has left me confused, wondering what I have done to cause her to become so angry with me. But my world was suddenly turned upside down. The day started like usual; she placed me on my pink, fluffy pillow and rushed out the door to school. She came home like normal and started playing; the door opened interrupting her music that stopped with a jolt. I recognised the boy and her face had gone white, they sat down but she happened to sit on me, causing my world to go into darkness. When light returned, the boy was no longer there, as if he had only been a fragment of my imagination. She was where I had seen her before my imagination thought it saw the boy come in. Something was strange about the scene it had changed. She was clutching her music maker and silent tears slip down her bright red cheeks, she was playing but her music had changed its tune it was rough and came out in harsh sounds. It was sad and slowly played, not like her normal music which seemed to spring to life and that made me ache for legs that could move and dance. That night I found my self face down in the middle of the floor, carpet my only form of company. The next morning I was placed back on my special spot but she avoided looking at me and pushed me against the pink pillow with force. As the days went by my Ribbon come undone, and went without being noticed. She never looked at me and when she did her face would twist in emotion. I had become adjusted to the cold floor and being daily thrown with violence against the door. When she cried she would sit on the floor her arms wrapped around herself. I could do nothing to help I was only what I represent. Only something to remind her of a time pasted by, she couldn’t give me up and pack me in a box. Admit to me being lost. So she continued to place me in my familiar spot on the pink pillow but she couldn’t let me comfort her or cuddle with her as I wasn’t real to her I was just a symbol for something that had gone wrong. I wish I wasn’t what I was but I was only a teddy bear, I couldn’t change what I was made to be a gift to someone from someone they love. So I suffered along side her, watching her fall apart. My fur got messy and unclean. My ribbon had gone limply and not pretty anymore. My once black shinny, button eyes, had now lost its shine. I was falling apart one stitch at a time and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was love her, as that’s what teddy bears are best for.