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I hadn't slept in a while. You knew that much. You couldn't figure out what haunted me in the night, in my dim lit room. The thumps and the noises as the walls gave way to the monsters underneath.
You visit me sometimes, always with that concerned look on your face, as you ask your usual questions; "How are you?", "Sleeping well?" and "Must you really do that?"
I know your searching for an answer more than "Eh". But really, I've been in the dark so long, an intelligent seems so far away.
I remember a certain day you came to see me, the day when I had decided to play with the broken toys from my box. A dirty doll, a almost-flat kicking ball.
You had something in your hand this time. A little white thing, floating in the air, and hitting you in the head when the wind would kick up.
A balloon. I'm a little old for balloons now, but still, I reach for it, and tie it to my wrist, watching as it bounces up and down.
You smile. And so do I.