In My Room I Found You

I arrived to find something new in my room. Amongst the pieces of my past, tokens and weapons lay a new doll. It was worn by the many miles it had traveled before this moment. It lay amongst many well know items of mine. They must have brought it along to keep them company. I found myself drawn to its imperfections and marks. Slowly many of my other possessions became trifle besides the time I spend engorged in the world amidst our play. Steadily the doll started to become imbued with meaning. No longer could I hold it in my arms and eyes as a meager representation of life. It had become real, alive and closer now than I thought it would when first I saw it. At first I delighted by the life it had acquired and hastily made it fine lodging in my heart. I had forgotten why I had vacated live from my room so long ago. Now alive, what was once a doll now was now subject to the imperfections of life. These were unlike the tatters that had drawn me to it. No, these were the barbs of individuality and agency. As sweet as its ability to choose me could be, as bitter was its capacity to scorn me. As the blood started to clot, and the wounds sporadically close, I found it inconceivable to recant the life that looked back at me from behind the eyes that were once so vacant. I tried, that I cannot deny. Alas it no longer resided outside of me, but in its being lay a part of my own reflection. I had lost control of yet another part of myself. I am now too afraid to open the door to my heart, for I fear the condition it has been left in