A note from Teddy's diary

They come. They hug. They go.

 

I sit there with my arms stretched out, my sophisticated demeanour being the only factor differentiating me from a scarecrow...a constant smile pasted on my face like static on a television screen.

 

I listen to them when they want to speak. I speak when they want to listen. I wipe their tears when they cry and laugh with them when they are happy. I allow them to have me around when they are alone and need company. I allow them to keep me aside when they have others to give them company.

 

They say I am adorable. They say I am sweet. They say I am their best friend. Am I? Really?

 

Or...am I just a Teddy Bear?

 

Do they know that deep inside all the sponge, there is a heart? ... a heart pretty much like theirs? Do they realize...

 

that I can 'feel' as much as they do?

 

that I want them to listen to me as much as I listen to them?

 

that I want to hug and be hugged not just when they feel like, but also when I feel like?

 

that I cannot switch roles between a Teddy and a Punching Bag as and when people want me to?

 

that just because my black buttony eyes do not shed tears, it does not mean that I don't need a shoulder once in a while?

 

that I too want to be able to express my feelings and emotions when I feel like, without being like a petrified investor constantly monitoring the volatility of their emotional stock exchange?

 

that affection is neither for charity nor on sale?

 

that I want them to be my best buddies in the truest sense?

 

Do they realize? ... Will they ever realize? ... I don't know.

 

However, what I do know is that... I don't want to be a Teddy Bear anymore.