17 December 2012
They ask, they laugh, they talk behind my back. 'why do you love that bear so?' they say.
'my memories are mine, not yours or theirs. Not to be shared. But mine.' I reply.
They keep on persisting but they don't understand how hard it is to be kept reminded. I can't sleep without my bear, unable to eat or drink knowing it's not safe. Yet, they keep laughing; 'you're a baby' they say.
I'm trying not to cry. 'if you had my memories,' I bite back 'you wouldn't be able to sleep, talk or stand'
They shut up then. Daren't talk to me. I'm the crazy baby. It makes life harder but at least it's quiet, and at least I know I've got my precious bear waiting for me at home.
Memories And A Bear • Opuss № I