Buddy Holly

As I walk by, he glares at me with wonder and resentment. He sits. Watches. Waits to be acknowledged. He doesn't know how he got to this place. Alone. Cold. He worries what will become of him if it goes on for just one more day. I walk away hastily, not wanting to be judged of things I did many moons ago... He just stares.

The next day it happens over. And the day after. He wonders when he will feel the love he once had...again. He longs for it. Thinks of all the scenarios in his head when he was a large piece of my life. And now, it's come to this.

Underneath the clear cool plastic, smushed up against others and feeling the rejection of the situation. But it's one of those things in life. I moved on and he's still in the same place. Beneath the plastic, so to speak. He can no longer help me, and he knows that. 

But wasn't it easier, when he was the one I came home to. Snuggled up with. Let all my bad day moments diminish as I talked it over with him. Got into bed and held him in my arms as though no single being could replace him. And waking up next to him, gave new inspiration to each day. Days filled with love and giggles.

 I didn't mean to let him go, I just had to, for my sake, for his, for the life that was to come. That I waited for. But what happens to him now? What happens to all of them that get put under the plastic so to speak. 

I think of someone else snuggling up to him, but when this thought enters my head, I somehow become quite jealous over the situation. As though his love should not be shared with anyone except me, it is mine and I still do cherish it, but do not need it, any longer. I don't want him, but no one else will have him. Isn't this what we do?

Just a girl, thinking of Harold J. Pottomoose, and all the unloved stuffed animals, and what we do with them once we have moved on, but forever cherish them in our hearts.