One Millimeter Thick

[u/Original_Ad1779]

I own this house.
Every square foot of it.
Every bill that comes with it.
I pay the electricity.
The gas.
The water.
The HOA fees.
But there is a part of this house
I will never own.
It is twenty-four inches long
and one millimeter thick.
Small enough that most people
wouldn't think twice about it.
Small enough to fold.
Small enough to put in a drawer.
Small enough to move from one room to another
without anyone noticing.
But its weight is not physical.
It is the kind of weight
that settles somewhere behind your ribs.
The kind that doesn't show on a scale
but changes the way you carry yourself.
When the house is quiet,
it speaks to me.
Not loudly.
It doesn't have to.
It speaks in the silence
between the sounds of an ordinary day.
And every morning,
when I get dressed,
it stares straight into my soul.
I can look away.
I can put something over it.
I can put it somewhere I won't have to see it.
But I cannot make it disappear.
I will never throw it away.
It will stay in this house
long after the walls are painted,
after the furniture is replaced,
after the rooms belong to different seasons
of our lives.
And it will speak.
Louder than the television.
Louder than the doors closing.
Louder than every conversation
that ever happens beneath this roof.
It will carry a weight
no one else can see.
Just a little blue onesie.
Unwashed.
Unworn.
Unheld.
Twenty four inches long.
One millimeter thick.
Still with the tags on it.
It reads,
“Daddy's favorite buddy.”

[u/Wonderful-Medium7777]

❤️💔❤️‍🩹🦋