I remember BunBun like it was yesterday, when I was squeezing the stuffing out of her. She had bunny ears that flopped down to the ground, and stitching for her mouth that resembled a smile. I didn’t go anywhere without her, not the store, not the park, and definitely not to bed. When I was with BunBun, I felt a sense of warmness. I gave her more love than I ever gave anyone. I was only four at the time, but I treated her like my baby. I carried her everywhere I went like I was her protector; nobody could take away our special bond.

On rainy days, I would pet BunBun’s black and white colored fuzzy fur and hope for sun. I was never afraid of thunderstorms because she was my comfort animal. If I squeezed her real tight, I knew everything would be okay. She never let a tear escape from my eyes, even on the saddest days. I promised her I would never let her go; she was my best friend. I cherished every moment with BunBun like it was our last.

When I turned five and was old enough to go to school, I came home with the things I had learned and taught them to BunBun. She learned the alphabet before half the kids in my class. It became harder to go to school without her, but I wasn’t allowed to bring her. It wasn’t fair. As a little kid I didn’t understand. She was my prized possession, the only one I could tell my secrets to.

One day, when I came home from school, I went to my room to retrieve BunBun like I always did, but surprisingly she wasn’t there. At the time, I thought she was playing hide and go seek with me. I ran to my mom to ask if she had seen her, but I received awful news: no sign of BunBun. I searched thoroughly throughout my entire house, but couldn’t find her anywhere. I continued this search for many months, but still no BunBun.

When I was about nine years old, I asked about her. I was told BunBun had had stuffing coming out the sides and fur as dark as a storm cloud. It also hadn’t been washed in weeks. They had to throw it out because of its conditions. My mom said she hadn’t told me because she didn’t want to break my gentle heart; little did she know, it was already torn apart.