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, 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 she doesn’t make a sound.
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