I might be small, but that doesn’t make me a child. I’m actually quite old. In human years I’d be about 16, but in bear years that makes me ancient. I’m a teddybear. Bobo the Bear. And after all this time, I don’t see the world through rose-coloured glasses anymore. In fact, I only see half the picture: that’s what happens when you’re missing one eye. Back when I was a brand new bear, the kids used to play with me. Then time took its toll. Not only did I lose my left eye, my fur went matted, my posture slouched and I lost that new-bear spark. You know how it goes.
Then out of nowhere, Rosie arrived. Something sparked between us and I felt butterflies in my tummy, dancing between folds of plush. After years of grey, sweets now taste sweeter, lemons more sour, coffee more bitter. The world feels like it’s flipped upside down because when I see her, everything spins in a swirl of boundless joy. Even when I fall asleep, I think of Rosie — and I know she thinks of me. Sometimes I dream about her all night… Everything looks brighter. Whether you have one eye or two.
Christmas is on its way and I know Rosie will be with her family, but I guess I don’t mind. Even if I’m alone… Even if mountains stand between us, and rivers froth below us… Even if we get older and weaker, and see each other with only one eye… We will still be together. I think this is what they call love.