Kitty's Story
Memories. They are a strong strand of one's heart and soul. Often, one remembers the good times over the bad, even though the painful times are never truely forgotten. It isn't rare for those memories to be awoken in the form of an item. A yellow rose can remind a lady of the night she met the guy sleeping next to her now, twenty three years later. A photo can bring back memories of playing in the park, singing songs with a childhood friend. However, in our story, our vessel is in the form of a plush rabbit. I can not say that this story has such a happy scenario. Regardless, this story is mine... for she will never be mine again.
Maybe I'm possessive. I've never really seen this habit as greed, but I suppose that is exactly what it is by definition. You see... I have this thing. If I can call something mine, it makes me feel like I have some small instance of control. When everything is ripped away from you in the blink of an eye, a need for stability tends to arise. You feel as though you want to return to everything that you once knew. The past turns into a security blanket, and you desperately grip and claw, grasp and hold what little security you can manage to maintain. I've come to realize that nothing is forever. No matter how hard you fight, change is simply part of life. It is an ongoing cycle, and not even the strongest of steel can hold up against the unseen wind. How do I know this? She was supposed to be mine forever.
I never expected to be hers though, especially after she's already gone. (Not Finished)
