Realities

The First Bear

I hug it, the item of comfort given at my birth;

A permanent reminder

of the love held for me.

The name plastered

across its chest in hot pink,

the stories I’d tell before

falling asleep at night.

Frustrations I would share

knowing it would feel

just the same because

it was an item personalised

just for me;

an extension of my personality.

The older I grow,

the more I forget.

But the item sitting

at the end of my bed,

will never forget the fears,

the nightmares,

nor the tears I shed

into its soft fur.

The insides are a mess,

but the comfort is still there.

Though it no longer suffocates

from my arms being tight around its neck,

It still sits next to my pillow on a night,

reminding me of the love my mere

existence was given.

Still with its four limbs,

button eyes and skewed bow,

It waits for me to pick it up,

to share a hug when the stress

Is just too much.

While I have collected a

A few more bears since

I came into existence,

None of them share the

highs and lows of a

child’s memories.

And as such,

none can compare

to the existence of

the bear with wise eyes.