Out of all the toys you adored,

was I one of your favourites?

Or was I just the one you reached for

when the room went dark

and you needed something soft

to break your fall?

Tell me where you kept me

when you weren't playing with my heart.

Did you leave me sitting on the edge of the shelf,

dust gathering on my shoulders,

waiting for the sound of your footsteps in the hall?

Did you smile knowing I would stay right where you left me,

completely unmoving, completely yours?

Because I remember the way you used to handle me careless, offhanded,

as if my limbs were made of something that couldn't snap,

as if my silence meant I wasn't aching under your weight.

You treated my devotion like plastic,

like something cheap you could drop on the floor

and pick back up whenever nostalgia struck.

You loved the way I fit into your hands,

how easy I was to bend,

how I never learned how to say no to you.

So tell me the truth.

When you grew tired of the game,

did you outgrow me,

or did you just break me so thoroughly

that I stopped being fun to play with?