I’ve been left here by my owner. I’m lonely and cold. She left me here, well not here exactly but here in this stranger’s place. She went home with him, his home. Beforehand, they had drinks. He bought her one. I suppose that’s unimportant. What is, is me, here, he slid me under here. Under where? The bed of course and she left to go, where? Home I guess. Yeah, I guess she went home, our home.
Maybe she’ll come back for me? Maybe he’ll look under here and find me and mail me back to her? I can’t imagine so, though it would be nice.
I wonder if she’s made it home. She was wobbly when she got here, wherever here is. She must be cold without me. She has to have noticed my absence. Then again, there are many others at home.
Today he finally found me. I thought he’d return me or at least wash me. Instead he put me on his face and then slid me up his legs. The type of warm he possessed didn’t feel right. He didn’t fit. I don’t belong to him and yet he didn’t care.
He modeled around his place for a while and posed in the mirror. He looked terrible. He stinks. It was disgusting.
After finishing his prance and dance routine he threw me back under the bed. I don’t think he plans on giving me back. There’s a strange hair inside of me. No, I guess it’s not so strange.
He’s above me now, sleeping. I hope he never wakes up.
Oh, something crawled past me last night. I envy the legs. Since it can go anywhere it wants.
Another girl came in today. She has toenail polish that reminds me of my owner. There was a bunch of noise above me, same as before.
I hate this.
The man above me cried today, don’t know why.
Another dance session today and then we went outside, not sure where.
One thing I can say is that at least he provides warmth, that’s something at least, gotta look on the bright side, even when you’re in the dark.
I really need a good washing. I haven’t gone this long without one.
Strangely, last night I slept on top of the bed with him. This morning he used me to dry his eyes. He was crying again. Next, I was chucked back under the bed. It’s dusty here.
Got worn again today, another dance routine. Then he gave a speech to the mirror. After that he touched my front and pulled himself. Soon I was wet inside. Then back under the bed.
Today he saw what dried within me and gave me a wash. He put me under the bathroom faucet. Then he finally decided to wash me along with a group of others. I smell spring fresh now.
He folded me carefully and placed me into a drawer. There were others as well. They didn’t belong to him but I suppose they do now.
I’m beginning to believe that my owner doesn’t want me back. This must be how a stray feels. Surely I am unwanted.
When someone leaves something behind and another person recovers it, isn’t what’s left behind now a belonging of the finder? Does the owner even deserve to have what they’ve lost back? Does my owner even deserve me back? And most importantly, do I even want to return if I’m not wanted?
Appreciation goes a long way. I barely remember being worn by another. He and I seem much closer. We bond. I understand why he cries now. If I could I also would. Not for me but for him. He often talks aloud.
It really doesn’t take long to get used to a routine or a new home. It doesn’t take long to get used to anything, or anybody, parts or otherwise. I believe that now. Here is my home. I am taken care of in different ways and I’ve gotten used to them.
This change, this new path, is quite nice, only different. You can get used to different. To the point where it almost feels right, and it is right, to be wanted. I understand that. ‘Owner’ is only a word. I came to appreciate who takes care of me, no matter what they look like. My new home is not so bad after all.
In fact, I quite like it.