Lost

I’m not sure which is worse, having my hair torn out everyday and markers drawing ‘makeup’ on my face, having a dog chew on my arm and a toddler chew on my leg. Or to be sitting here, forever still and unmoving as the plants grow over me and my paint starts to wear off, sitting here with nothing but my thoughts. I used to mean something. She used to cry when I was lost under the bed or left at a gas station. And as much as I hated the constant noise and the too tight clothes and her sticky hands I also kind of miss her. I miss her unconditionally love and joy when playing with me, I thought the adventures she would invented were fun, no matter how childish they were. But then she grew up, the worst thing to do to a kid with a sense of adventure like her’s. soon it went from taking me everywhere to only being chosen when she could not find the newer cooler toy with the flashing lights. Suddenly I was a plan B, and I think that’s what hurt the most. So no, if you asked me right now if I wanted to go back, To be found and loved again I would say no, because nothing is worse than being loved and then forgotten. Nothing is worse than having that love be lost.