He’s not even a real bunny.
He’s the wrong colour, and his fur isn’t fur.
His legs are floppy, not hoppy, and
One of his ears is a little loose.

But she holds him when she’s lonely,
And it’s dark, and her eyes are closed.
And he’s real enough and bunny-enough
To be her bunny when she needs him.

To give her the protection of just being there.
To make her feel less alone.
To reflect back the love she gives, with
Perfect purity, unconditional and unconscious.

Her bunny asks for nothing.
He’s just there to make things better.
To ease pain and loneliness, and
To make her feel more loved.

I don’t want to be a movie star,
Or a hero or famous or rich.
Everything I could ever dream of being
In this world, for anyone

Is sometimes unreal and maybe
The wrong colour. And with the wrong fur.
And with legs that are floppy, not hoppy.
And one loose ear.

In my highest aspirations
I’m not a real bunny.

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