Hearts and Stitches
I am the last one. My sisters are long gone. They were soft, floaty, shiny, and beautiful. We were the muses that enhanced her charm and enchantment. Then he came, and my sisters either broke, tore apart, or choked in trash cans.
Did she hide me on purpose, or did she forget me? All I know, I am still hanging here plastered against the far end of the wall, biding my time.
My beads have lost their shine in the damp air surrounding me, but my hope has endured. The newcomers—thick, itchy, poky—are unattractive and bulky, the cruel reification of the new man she brought home.