Dearest Pinkie,
Firstly, I'm sorry my young, four year old mind couldn't spare a few more seconds to come up with a slightly more creative name than Pinkie. Could I really not look further than material deep? The only thing I could focus on was your pastel pink color? I could have gone with Elizabeth or Lauren or even Olga -- at least there is some creativity in those names. But at the same time, "Pinkie" suits you well. What better than that for a pretty pink teddy?
I still remember the first time you came into my life. I had been shopping with my sister, mom, and grandma. My grandma went into a shop and came out with two teddy bears: one a baby blue, the other a powder pink. She had held you and that other blue bear out to my sister and me. We went running to grab the bears, arms outstretched. My grandma had expected me to grab the blue one, and my sister the pink. It makes sense, actually, because I can't stand the color pink -- I never have. Something about you made me reach out and choose you. I remember looking at you for the first time: the short, soft pink fur, the embroidered black eyes, the silky pink bow, and the words sewn into your chest: "My First Teddy." Really, I had many teddy bears before you, but you were my favorite.
No other toy has ever come close to meaning as much to me as you do, Pinks. Even when I'd get a new toy, whether it be from Build-A-Bear or the dollar store, you always meant more to me. I'd let those other toys sleep with us for a night or two or three, but you were the only one who slept with me each and every night. Remember how I would drool on you or push you off the bed at night? Sorry about that. Oh, and I still feel bad for losing you for those three months after you had fallen between the headboard of my bed and the wall.
Every time the sky would storm and the thunder would shake, I'd get so scared and I'd hold you tightly in my arms. You were there to get me through the storms until I wasn't afraid of them anymore. Thank you, Pinks, for always being there for me.
Pinkie, I've had you since I was four years old, and twelve years later you're still in my life, and there you'll stay. Now, your pink fur is covered with lint, no longer soft, but a rough material like a bath towel. Your silky pink bow isn't so silky anymore, now covered in bite marks from my dogs.
When I began to pack for college, you were the first thing I placed in the box. As of this moment, you sit upon my floral bedspread in my dorm room at my university. I'm glad you're here with me still.
