Once I resided in a beautiful lounge, amongst the fashion conscience and well to do. Now I’m forgotten at the charity shop. My foam sneaks out from the velvet, but it is pushed back into place.
Kind hearts make me fit for use again.
I sit here, at a charity shop, waiting. Waiting for someone to give me a forever home. I watch old friends leave, and new ones join me. Is it my shade of yellow that stops them from buying me?
Then one day, they arrived in the shop like a whirlwind of love. She patted my material, and told the assistant she would buy me. Me, the unloved, and unwanted. Now I wait for the delivery driver, holding my breath, to take me to my forever home.
Writer Ravenclaw 
rely on strangers
sense the danger
mask to the varient
lies and mass hysteria
sick of covid
sick of love
too
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