I had a rock once.

I had a very, very small rock once at that.

Once, that rock was white.

Once, that rock was so pearly and shiny.

Once, that rock belonged to me.

And once, I cried for that rock.

I named it Bob.

Once.

I really liked that rock.

Bob and I would go on car rides once.

He and I would play until the golden sun’s rays set.

Once.

I found Bob at the beach.

Before we left I wanted to put him down, but I really didnt want to.

He would be sad if I left him.

Like a boy playing a girls heart just to leave in the end.

I didnt want that rock to be sad.

I took Bon home that night, putting him in the sink and washing off sand.

It’s been ten years now.

I’m nineteen.

I found Bob in the attic, collecting dust.

I should have left Bob at the beach, considering I couldnt take care of my poor rock like I promised to my ten year old self that one beach day.

I picked up Bob.

I went to the beach.

That same beach.

That same home for Bob.

I still didnt want to let go of my rock.

My bob.

My bobby.

He was mine.

But he wasnt.

Once.

Eyes closed I threw him into the water.

At once I grew angry and regretful.

But at once I also grew relieved.

Bob was home.

Happy.

My bobby.

Once.