Lips soft. Hands rough. We made a teddy bear together for our six month anniversary. I found the bear with the softest fur and had her filled just so. I could hold and be held. The product of our imagination, closest thing well ever get to a mixing of our spirits, closest thing to a remanifestation of our flesh, Our child. She served as a pillow while I waited for you to die, my sister cried while holding the bear, tears staining the perfect pink dress. Our child, a gift from you to me, something you had me make for us. Shes far too soft, like me,