My Pillow n Me
My pillow was once chubby and sparkling white, when I picked her from an equally white metallic stand from the Ikea store on a summer promotion. I would dig into her soft body and she would cup my face with such tenderness. I had claimed my copyrights on the pillow and from then on we shared a unique and intimate bond. The Pillow was no more a pillow to me, she (as I prefer to address her) was the secret holder to my heartaches and sorrowfulness. Many a night I would cry onto her unconsolably, soaking in every single tear. Tears of dejection, tears of loneliness, tears of longingness, she would embrace it all up, my dear pillow. She would absorb my sobs lest anyone else would hear, cause it was only our secret. She would cradle me and caress me till my heavy lids would shut in deep and tired slumber. I have burdened my pillow with unaccountable sorrows and immeasurable tears. Today my pillow after years look weak and feeble, darkened and stained...