The object (I can’t really call it an object, it wouldn’t be fair) that my mind skipped to when we were told what to write about was something that I have treasured for a long time now. His name is Blue. But for some funny reason I didn’t get attached to him. I became attached to the other way more obviously loved than Blue could ever be. Her name is Pink. She has been there through the highs and lows of my life and to be frank she has had some harsh moments of her own. Mainly that her and I used to chasing clouds in the gardens of the various houses that we have lived in.
She has been my understanding comforter since I was about two or so years old and now she is practically in tatters because of it. There is patch of degraded warmth on her back and a hole in her ear where my affectionate hands fiddled with it. The insides in her neck have come out and now very fragile, like a baby who can’t hold their own head up. The same has happened on her feet as well just her ability to walk has never been really up to standard. I used to never be able to get to sleep without her and although I have grown up she still sits on my pillow waiting for me to fall into the bed. I’d like to think that the physical torment she has gone through with the amounts of bumps and bruises has not ruined our relationship. Her smile will never fade even if mine does.
Pink was there when I ran up to my room crying to comfort me and make me feel better. Compared to Blue sixteen years on she is in tatters but I still love her. I think that it is the reason why Pink is the most significant of my possessions; she has been with me through all of the events of my life so far. She is real to me, does she seem real to you?
No comments:
Post a Comment