Tattered Doll

· Personal Reflections

Evening at the park. I’m sitting here after work in my car, eating a half-warm pizza while looking out over the river.

I’m doing fine. At least that’s what I tell myself. Sometimes, my heart doesn’t buy it.

I’ve been watching a doll make her way around the park. Long, tangled, blonde hair, it’s obvious she’s been loved on a lot by the little girl carrying her.

He’s holding her hand tightly in his own. Her dad. A guy about my age. He’s walking her around the park, stopping occasionally at a bench or a stump or a curb to take a picture of the doll that she’s set up and posed, smiling at her shrieks of delight each time he snaps a frame of the tattered figure.

It’s probably just another day for him. I hope he realizes how truly blessed he is.

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