from the eyes of my stuffed toy

She still picks me up gently.
She tucks me in before she tucks herself in and always makes sure I'm comfortable first.

Hi, I'm Zozo—her stuffed toy.
It's nice to be held again.
For a while, she forgot about me, and I thought that was the end of my story. I sat on a shelf collecting dust while the room changed and she grew up.
she reached for me again. Now I spend every night in her arms. I feel her tears soak into my fur, even when she tries so hard to stay quiet. It's loud inside her head, even if the room is silent. I'm watching her smile fade, her hair getting shorter, and the sparkle in her eyes slowly disappear. She holds me because she's scared that if she lets go of one more thing, she'll lose herself too. And somehow, even on the nights she forgets to be gentle with herself, she's still gentle with me. She fixes my little bow, brushes the dust off my ears, pulls the blanket over me first, kisses my forehead, and whispers, "Goodnight, Zozo." I'm only made of cotton and thread, so I can't tell her she's loved, I can't wipe away her tears, and I can't hug her back.
All I can do is stay, hoping that one day she'll give herself the same kindness she's always given me.

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