I Know She Loves Me

I know she loves me.

We met in IKEA last year. I could see she was the kind of girl who would choose someone like me. I’m the heaviest, biggest, most fluffy of them all and I could shield this girl from the cold Scottish winter nights better than any other. She took me home and enjoyed dressing me in beautiful soft red and white colours. She is probably not aware of it, but I think she chose these colours subconsciously because it is the colours of her nation.

She speaks Danish in her sleep, you know.

Last year we were closer. She needed my comfort much more back then. But oh, how I feel her love for me still each night when she crawls into bed with me after a long night spent in the company of her new flatmates in the living room of the place we live now. She enters the room, she pushes me over gently and smiles like a sleepy child as she stretches under me and yawns. Afterwards she curls up against me and wraps me tight around her body. She buries her face in my softness and exhales and as a loving guardian I listen quietly as her breathing gets heavier and eventually she drifts off to sleep.

That’s when the not so fun part starts. She kicks in her sleep and is quite restless. There has been more of this uneasiness in our new flat and I blame the mattress. It is hard and tough and in a way it seems like it’s trying to reject this new tenant, my dear girl. But my clever one has come up with a plan. I know, because I see the mattress topper she just bought, standing in the corner impatiently staring at me, waiting to get beneath me. I am a bit jealous. I admit it. Her heart has so much love in it and she’s going to love him too. But the way she embraces me lets me be certain that only I will ever hold the most special place in her heart.


I, her one and only



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