The imagination of a six-year-old

The teddy bear seemed to stare at me as it reclined on the shelf.
It was a sunny afternoon and
I had nothing else to do
so I walked over to the shelf and lifted the teddy bear into my arms.
For a while I danced around,
dragging the loyal bear by my side.
I climbed up the stairs,
pretending the staircase was a mountain.
Hiding from the monsters under my bed,
I remained in the closet with the teddy bear for quite some time.
We played make-believe
for hours,
wasting away the rest of the day.
Night fell
and soon it was time for sleeping.
My mother scolded me for staying up so late and
she pushed me into my room and under the covers.
I was still clutching the bear underneath my arm.
My fingers traced the refreshing corduroy of his trousers.
As I drifted off to sleep, the teddy bear smiled up at me,
his eyes seemed to be as heavy as an iron curtain.
Soon, we were both snoring and dreaming of tomorrow,
when we could imagine and play once more.


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