I first came to this country with others just like me. We knew that our purpose would be to serve. When she chose me from amongst so many I determined not to disappoint. I would provide warmth and comfort, always be there for her, do my best to enhance her life.
She took me home and quickly we became friends. I would wrap myself around her, or allow her to use me as a pillow when she rested. She was so beautiful and I felt honoured that she had chosen me.
At first she seemed happy to be seen with me, but that was when I was young and vibrant. We would go for long walks in the park, feed the ducks, climb the hills and look down on the city. She took me to the coast and we ran along the beach, following the tide line, before resting on some rocks to skim stones. Others commented on how good we looked together and I felt proud.
She chose me to accompany her on so many adventures, what a life she led. I knew that I was a favourite, that I had succeeded in my goal. I was useful, as was my purpose, but also desired for the ease she felt with me, for the comfort I bestowed. When she wished to unwind and relax she would choose me to join her.
Time passed and age took it’s toll. We remained close, friends, but she noticed me less. Still, I continued to serve her well and she turned to me in times of need. Many’s a night I would be there for her as she sat on her sofa, eating ice cream, feeling miserable that some foolish boy had turned away from her. She would hug me to her as she wept.
I became shapeless and dull, she no longer wished to be seen with me in public. Together we would tidy the garden or snuggle up to watch a movie at home. I was aware that my time with her was coming to an end, that she would one day cast me aside, replace me with another more pleasing to the eye. I did my best to hold myself together, to prolong my time with her.
At first I was surprised when she decided to take me on holiday, and then I realised what this meant. I saw the cheap tent and the wellington boots. This was not the first music festival that we had been to together but, even then, I suspected it was to be my last.
It was a fitting end to our friendship. Three days of music and laughter, sunshine and rain. We shared the sleeping bag in her tiny tent as I tried to keep her warm despite the mud and the damp.
That last day together was one of our best. As she danced in the rain, soaking up the atmosphere as we bore the weather together, I reminisced on all we had been through. The stains that I carried were memories of her life and her loves, our companionship through good times and bad.
In the end though I was left behind, discarded as she left the site, arm in arm with her latest man. I would not be the one to wrap myself around her, comfort her when he let her down. I hoped that she would find another that could please her as I had done.
She had a drawer full of hoodies, but none fit her quite as well as me.