The Bear
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All roses are beautiful. Some roses are special. It has nothing to do with a giver. The roses on my coffee table are special. I touch one petal and it feels right. The comforting sensation of plush endures twenty years after a toy bear was thrown away. The bear had been in my family for fifty years. My grandma handled it with gentle care when she tucked us at night. Recently, I found out that my bear belongs to a rare breed highly sought after by the collectors. Even if I had the money I would not buy a bear that looks like mine. It will never replace my bear, the bear that heard me laugh in my sleep. I stopped when they threw it away.
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(all rights reserved © Natalia L. Rudychev 2006)
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All roses are beautiful. Some roses are special. It has nothing to do with a giver. The roses on my coffee table are special. I touch one petal and it feels right. The comforting sensation of plush endures twenty years after a toy bear was thrown away. The bear had been in my family for fifty years. My grandma handled it with gentle care when she tucked us at night. Recently, I found out that my bear belongs to a rare breed highly sought after by the collectors. Even if I had the money I would not buy a bear that looks like mine. It will never replace my bear, the bear that heard me laugh in my sleep. I stopped when they threw it away.
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.(all rights reserved © Natalia L. Rudychev 2006)
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posted by Natalia L. Rudychev at 11:43 PM
8 Comments:
It's the story behind the story that says the most. Hauntingly real.
Pat
Thank you. Some childhood memories never fade.
for some reason teddy bear stories always seem to touch me on a deep level. thank you for this one.
Polona
Thank you. Childhood friends, quiet listeners.. Who can forget them?
I like this picture. You have beautiful eyes.
I can't remember where it is right now, but it is still somewhere in our house, my Blue Bear. At the time when it was bought, blue bears were rare, at least in this part of the world. They still are... Thanks for bringing this up.
Borut
Thank you for sharing this with me. For some reason the things that I lose have magical powers over me. I still remember the watercolor of a hoese in the fog that I wanted to buy as a freshman in college. I did not have enough money. When I collected the money somebody already had bought it. From time to time I think of this horse as if it was a pleasant acquaintance that was never meant to be.
Objects, ideas etc. associated with strong desires have power, bewitching power even. They may not leave us alone. This is magic.:)
How true!
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