What We Throw Away

A discarded teddy bear becomes a haunting symbol of love we outgrow

“What We Throw Away”


He wasn’t always
a heap of damp fur and silence—
once, he was chosen.


Held in the tight, sacred grip
of a child who believed
love could be stitched into anything.


Once, he smelled like bedtime,
like safety,
like a world that hadn’t learned
how to leave yet.


Now he leans—
spine slack against a grave of plastic,
purple bags swollen with everything
we couldn’t carry forward.


Look at him.


Still smiling—
like he doesn’t know
he’s been replaced
by brighter things,
quieter distractions,
love that expires faster.


We outgrow what never outgrows us.


And isn’t that the cruelty of it?


We abandon the things
that held our worst nights together—
the witnesses
to our small heartbreaks,
our fever dreams,
our whispered fears
we never told another soul.


He remembers everything.


The crying.
The promises.
The way someone once said,
“I’ll never leave you,”
and meant it—
at least for that moment.


Now he sits
in the afterlife of usefulness,
rotting gently
beside everything else
we didn’t want to face again.


Tell me—


when did we start treating love
like trash day?


When did we decide
that being worn
meant being worthless?


Because he didn’t change.


We did.