A Doll Is...

A doll is a gentle touch wiping away your tears and an arm around your shoulder when you're breaking down

A doll is a message just to ask how you're doing when you're alone

A doll is open ears and a lack of judgement when you feel like everyone hates you

A doll is patient because it knows you're doing your best

A doll is supportive

A doll is love

A doll is understanding

A doll is everything it never had

"It Deserves to be Happy"

Look, this one appreciates the sentiment. Truly. That you even want to help means so much to it. But trying to convince this one that any being gets what it "deserves" is foolish.

If beings get what they deserve, you have decades to work through before this one can start to believe it deserves happiness. If that's even possible.

If they don't, then it's a meaningless statement and it doesn't matter what this one deserves.

Sweet Doll of Mine

It felt safe in the arms of its witch as it rested its head on her chest and listened. Her embrace shielded it from a hostile world. The sound of her breathing kept its own thoughts quiet. Every beat of her heart filled it with warmth.

She let out a relaxed sigh and held her doll in front of her. She couldn't help but smile. "So sweet."

It wasn't a sweet doll. It wasn't much of a doll, period. It was patchwork, pieced together from scraps salvaged from various dumpsters and curbsides. Every part of it, from its stuffing to the threads barely holding it together, was trash that had already outlived its usefulness.

Its witch loved it, though, as much as any doll, and cared for it just the same. It didn't understand why. There were more worthy dolls out there. It didn't know how to deal with feeling loved, either. It never had before, not really.

It didn't deserve her love. It tried proving that to her often, but it never worked.

She hummed an upbeat melody as she prepared its bed. She fluffed and set the pillows and pulled the blankets down. She double-checked that the blankets were layered just the way it needed before bringing it over.

It felt safe in the arms of its witch.

Her warmth stayed with it as she laid it in bed and pulled the blankets up to its chin. She smiled, gave it a kiss on its head, and walked to the door.

"Good night, sweet doll of mine," said its witch, turning the light off, "it is so wonderful."

It wasn't a sweet doll.

But it could be.

Because it was her doll.