“You seem a little disturbed today.”
“Oh no, just tired.”
I told another lie today.
To live in a world soley of inanimate objects, where one can never cling too tightly or talk too much in fear of it becoming the complaint of another. Everything that you left is exactly in the place that you once left it, in waiting. Nothing resents you for making it wait, for temporarily forgetting about it because you were distracted. All is how it has always been. Plush toys don’t know time, they know embraces and wet sloppy tears and whispers. They console us without uttering a word of advice, which is just a word for telling us what we already know the answer to, but wish that we did not. They listen, or let us pretend that they are listening, because sometimes we just need to pretend a little longer, to dull the pain a little longer. They do not become offended as we grip their throats and tear at their limbs and dampen their skins. They are safe, we make the choices for them.