She sits quietly.
Clutching her bear, worn thin from years of being held tight while she slept;
she can feel the corners of the music box within pushing through its belly.
Her eyes never leave her lap.
Hints of a childlike smile at the corners of her lips shadowed by the sadness in her eyes.
Her thoughts specifically focused on her bear;
her best friend;
its familiar scent;
the music box that is beginning to fail and the faint song it plays, skipping a note every once in awhile;
the once newly bought softness of its fur matted down from countless nights of snuggles, and fearful grips, and the tears of a lost little girl.
No one sees a silent little girl;
no one notices her and she knows that is the safest place to be.
So she sits quietly, with her bear in her hand, her eyes cast down, and doesn’t make a sound.
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