Not For a Million Dollars

I would never sell my stuffed koala. I imagine being homeless with dreadlocks and torn-up clothing. I imagine lying on a bench holding my koala for comfort. I feel that my koala has suffered as much if not more than me because I take her green cloak and use it as my eye mask to block out any light so I can sleep. She sleeps between my left forearm and my wait, warm but squashed a bit much. She puts up with my not being very careful with her.

I hold her with high regard. I don’t know why I love her so much. I imagine going hungry. I imagine feeling like there’s no way out of despair. I imagine making my home in a makeshift living space. She would still be kept clean and well-cared for. I would feel absolutely alone without her. I may even love her more than a human being.

In the most dire circumstance, I would never sell her. If I were offered a million dollars, the thing is, life would never be the same without her. I would rather forego the million dollars than not to have her by my side anymore.

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