You – you’re always there for me. Always have been, always will be. You are that one thing I can’t let go of, shouldn’t let go of, probably won’t ever let go of. I could probably let you go if I needed to, though. If I just never saw you again, if someone took you away and I had no way of getting you back—yeah, that’s probably the only way I’d ever let you go. You’re irreplaceable.
I’ve got friends that look like you, but they’re not the same. They’re not quite that same shade of snowy white, they aren’t there for me whenever I need them like you. They aren’t the one I ache for when I’m away from you for even just one day.
You are the one that brings me pleasant dreams in the night; without you by my side, I’m not home, I’m not safe or secure. You are home; you are comfort and my strength.
Your touch is like the wind, like a rabbit’s whiskers against my own cheek. You’re as light as the wind, too, and smell as sweet. Oh, your scent—like the seasons changing, like the shift from sunlight to rain, like I’m encompassed in sweetness. That’s what pulls me in, what makes me want to stay, what gives me the strength to leave so that I can come back to you again. That scent is the jolt I need when I’m sleep-deprived, the freshness when I’m overwhelmed, the handkerchief to catch my unattributed tears.
When She hurt you, I couldn’t stand it. She digs her claws into anyone and anything She can get at. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. She just continued, oblivious to my frantic attempts to save you. When I finally managed to pull Her away, to yank Her from your still self, She still didn’t let go. Your flesh is stretched and ripped, torn in Her attempt to hold on, to keep control of you, to keep her prize. You are marred, riddled with holes, disfigured. You’re translucent; I can practically see through you. I do look right through you, at that traitorous one who made you this way. Poor you. Poor, poor you.
But I still love you. I rationalize that you’re ok, and you’ll make it through. I tend to your wounds, fixing them as best I can, and ignoring the ones I can’t make better. Are you in pain, do your scars hurt? You make me feel so much better when I’m hurting, yet I can’t return the favor.
You’re getting older now, but you still look the same to me. Probably because I’ve know you my whole life. Looking back, I remember when you were young and new. Free of scars, with a beautiful, shiny white ribbon around your neck. It was like you were a snowflake—alighting on my window, fighting off my fears. Then you lost your ribbon. No, not lost—it was cut right from your neck. They rationalized that it was falling off anyway, that I could keep it for you once it was off—but they lied.
You were my comfort in the storm, still are. You were my escape route if danger should ever find me. Now I’ve grown, but you’ve stayed mostly the same. I have new comfort, new escapes, a new life. I don’t need you, but I still want you. I promise I’ll always be there for you, if you promise the same for me.
I love you, Blankie.
Ah. And now I am experiencing slight embarrassment. Anyway, here is the prompt:
Write a love letter to an inanimate object that you cannot live without. Do NOT identify it by name right away - if you must, save the ID for the end of the letter - let the suspense about what "it" is build. Be specific, detailed, and include a story about why this object is so important to you and how it has changed your life (if that is the case). Feel free to be funny. :)
Well, funny I was not. Sappy? Very much so. Eh, hope it was enjoyable to read anyway.
~Dale B.
So sweet. Nicely done. :)
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