How does it look?, Scrawny and raggedy, one leg shorter than the three others, a teary black eye, it even lost its cardboard ears. It must be more than forty years old, a thing from several pasts, it was already there, pathetically hung on the christmas tree during my childhood, with few of its brothers and sisters, faded blue, the grey blue of the rain, to this faded fleshy pink, and i can picture my mom creating those friends from the loneliness of her heart, in the loneliness of her room. Whatever, we make do living. But most keep an ugly scar.
(This is only relevant to me, for a long time i was part of the damaged ones, i learned to love it and love anyone else, i value the poor, the dirty, the limping, the rejected, who learned to live with passion despite being neglected from the very start.)
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