It feels like… being a kid, and having a favourite teddy bear. You can’t talk to it, but you feel it; you pretend that it can talk to you, and you tell it everything. You sit down with it and have tea parties, you revel in its comforting napped fur, its endearing sour milk smell, its blank button eyes. You tell it you love it every day. It becomes a part of you.
It’s like having a favourite teddy bear, insisting on carrying it into town with you because you can’t bare to leave it behind, not even for a few hours, carrying it out or love, simply to comfort you, to put you at ease. But you fall asleep in the stroller and your arms loosen and slip, and you drop the bear without realizing it. You wake up, and it’s gone forever.
This pain hurts so badly, it is heavy and it is unfair, and it is your fault; it is the irreversible pain of regret. Why did I bring it with me? is the question, plaguing, its intensity building like plaque. Why didn’t I just leave it alone? Despite questions of why, questions that feel like torture pressing down on such a small child, there are no answers; only a mistake. A mistake that cost you the one thing you love more than anything else in the world, forever. You’re there, and the bear is gone. And now, real adulthood must begin. Without it.