When I was new, with golden curls and a pretty dress, you clutched me to your chest and whispered all the things of a dream come true.
“You’re my best friend forever! So perfect, so beautiful, I love you!”
Hand in hand, to live and grow, to love and adventure. Even forever didn’t seem long enough to spend together.
And then my curls became matted, my dress torn and faded
Grand adventures add a bit of mileage to a doll.
Your eyes compared me to newer, deluxe dollies on the shelf.
“I don’t know what happened. You’re not the same.”
How could you have ever loved such a ratty old thing? Move on, move on. Nothing to see here. The golden doll is gone. Don’t look. The past is in its eyes
T. L. Ryder 
Whew, Theresa, another punch in the chest. Beautiful, mournful, and so painfully true. “The past is in its eyes” will stay with me for a very long time.