...
Poppy's saddest moments was when her mother left for work, she would see her prepare take her bag, grab Poppy and run downstairs, sometimes she dropped her mother at work with her grandma Molly, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes her mother left her in her room on the top floor, forgotten. Sometimes her mother left her with her grandma in the living room, where she was ignored most of the time only to be spoken to when her grandma Molly needed her to move so she could clean. And even in those moments she wasn't really talked to, it was more like a snort and a push to the side.
Poppy didn't blame her grandma Molly for the way she acted towards her, she knew she was troublesome. She was unable to move and unable to talk. But her mother accepted her and her mother's love was everything Poppy needed.
But Poppy's wonderful days came to an end. Day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year her mother grew older. And Poppy stayed the same. More and more she was left on her room. More and more she wasn't put to bed, taken on a walk or changed of clothes. Holly was growing and every day she paid less attention to Poppy. She forgot to feed her, to change her clothes or to walk her outside. And Poppy couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't reach out, her mouth forever closed. Sadness filled her small body but tears would never fall down her face, her eyes forever looking forward.
Poppy blamed the distance with her mother on herself. Her face which had once been smooth and pretty, was now filled scratches from the years and her many dresses, that had filled her with joy, were now worn off. And new ones were never bought. Her spoon and baby cart stored on a closet accumulating dust.
She just wasn't Holly's wish anymore. She was just a memory and maybe, in some years her story would be told. But deep, deep down she knew it wasn't her fault. She had not done anything wrong.
Because Poppy's only mistake was being...
A porcelain doll.
