Stuffed Animals
I stand in a room filled with all the things that I have ever taken comfort from. Books in which I have lost myself for days, their characters now like out-grown childhood playmates. Colorful bindings, which once beckoned, are now washed out versions of their original vibrance. Their faded colors seeming to mirror my memories of the happy times we once shared. The masks, so like me, handsome and polished on one side, tragic and angry on the other. Some laugh and jeer at me while others weep for...