The teddy bear was soft.

Petite and a pastel pink.

Shiny back eyes, a thin welcoming smile.

A silky white ribbon was tied at the collar.

It smelled of warm vanilla with a pinch of cinnamon.

The bear sat upon the dusty shelf of the store,

Awaiting an owner.

And one finally came.

The fur grew softer, the color lighter.

The teddy bear felt as if it had a heart amongst all of that cotton.

For just a moment. 

And then, it was just cotton and fabric.

Lengthy arms reached across the teddy bear in a tight grip.

The fluffy stuffing inside the bear’s tummy clumped into ugly storm clouds.

The fur was dampened by a salty solution.

The once soft fibers hardened into small sharp crusts.

The teddy bear was taken from place to place,

where it would await on the ground that crawled with every bacteria.

The once gentle pink darkened into something like a gray.

The teddy bear never felt the smooth suds of a cleanse.

It reeked of a pungent, bitter aroma.

Angry pulls craned the head of the teddy bear backwards.

At the collar, lay a split piece of fabric?

There were strings, frayed at the ends of both sides.

Constantly, the bear was face to a rough surface, dragged by its small, fabric foot.

The eyes littered with jagged interruptions on the glass. The yarn that made up the mouth of the bear seemed to have been mindlessly plucked off.

The bear would sit among the quiet crickets and the whistling wind.

Until it was needed.

Until those arms needed to embrace the bear.

Until the almost acidic solution needed a surface to fall upon.

The teddy bear suddenly was no longer embraced, no longer in use.

Shortly after that, the teddy bear found itself once again sat upon a dusty shelf. 

This time, just some hard cotton and soiled fabric.