My China Doll
My China Doll used to be the light of my night. She danced and danced in elegant circles. I made up her backdrop to give her colors just right. She played music for me every time I asked; she was good that way. I was her audience along with Great-Grandmother, Mary. We made up her world when the sun went to bed and the moon shown bright as her spotlight; she was our being, making memories to last perpetually.
But Mary is gone, and she took my China Doll with her. She let me know her beauty for a while after she left, but she recently claimed her again. My China doll has lost her head with the porcelain white pallor, her rosy cheeks, her blood red lips, and her loosely knotted ebony hair. She used to hold a rice paper parasol; the violet color matched the moon. But the arms that held the parasol tight are gone now too. She tilts when she twirls, making her look ill. It saddened me to ask her to dance for me when it happened, but her sweet melodies were still as beautiful and yet sad as ever.
I cried and cried the day that she left me. It was all that I had to bring back those nights. It will never be the same. I loved her.
Comments (from the old ms blog):
Nick:
I never realized it meant that much to you. I would have moved it if I thought the kids would get to it.
Me:
Yes, and I underestimated my children.
Jason:
This blog is brilliantly written, both beautiful and sad.
The best part, in my humble opinion, is the comment dialogue between you and Nick in the comments, however. The slightest ambiguity is removed, and the surreal feeling of your blog all of a sudden becomes very real, and more sad.
Two kudos to you, with a bonus kudo to the good doctor.
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