I sat on a shelf, I was broken and dusty.
My label read ”Defected, imperfect, broken. “
No one wanted me, they passed by and looked away when they saw my defects.
I was cracked in several places, and my eyes were glassy and sad. My clothes were torn and I was dingy, imperfect as my label said.
I wasn’t appealing. Who would want me?
I heard the patter of feet go by me several times a day.
My broken heart worn on my sleeve. Why was I just sitting there?
I saw the other girls, the other dolls being whisked off the shelves by those who don’t look past the outside.

Days pass and the dolls are returned, broken.
But repairable.
They haven’t been tossed around.
Just used once, then they’re back and on the shelves waiting for the next customer to buy them.
“Gently used.” Their labels now read. But they’re bought within days of being returned.
Maybe it’s not so bad, being broken.
But the tears that slip down my porcelain cheeks when the shopkeeper leaves for the day.
He tells me there’s someone out there, but they’ve yet to wander in.
I have no choice but to believe him.
He tells me that I’m broken, and I have to repair myself now.
It’s in my journey.
It’s hard to believe someone who can’t repair you.
Especially when one like him created me.
The days drag by, and the shop door creaks open.
A man wanders in and bypasses all the pretty and perfect dolls. Their heads and eyes follow him. What was he doing?
I sit on my lonely shelf, my empty shelf. Dust piles surround me, but I don’t think much of the stranger.
But I hear the hushed voices and my eyes look up at the man. He motions the shopkeeper over.

“I want her.” I hear ringing in my ears. The shopkeepers eyes widen, someone wanted me?
After all this time, someone finally wanted me.
“What do you want her for?” The shopkeeper took me down gently and set me on the ground.
I was soon several times my original height, and I stood next the the man who wanted me.
“I want to care for her, she’s broken and needs love. She needs more than just love, she needs someone to care and comfort her.”
I steadied myself on my shelf, my lonely and now empty shelf. I felt weak, and unsteady. I didn’t have the power to move my legs.
I was cracked in many places, I needed time to mend.

The man’s green eyes meet my steel blue ones. Why did they look familiar?
“I don’t just want her for a few days or months. I want her forever.” Those words would forever be etched into my brain.
The shopkeeper smiled and nodded, his hand going to my cracking arms to stabilize me. He began to walk to the counter, I naturally followed.
Green eyes pulled out his wallet. But the shopkeeper shook his head. I looked away, breaking from the eyes that sucked me in.
“I just need your name.” He held out a piece of paper. “You have good intentions. Sculpt a future.”
Green eyes scrawled his name. “Connor” But I couldn’t read his last name, my eyes were still adjusting to the brighter part of the shop.
“Connor, this is Leigh.”

I brushed off my clothes that grew with me. Dust fell off of them into small piles on the floor. I watched Connor curiously, I still didn’t understand why he wanted me. But to be cared for, to be repaired. How nice that would feel, how wonderful to no longer feel alone.
I had someone, and it was in his intentions to have me forever.
“Visit me sometime down the road. I’ll be here.” The old shopkeeper kissed my cheek, I nodded as a single tear slipped down his face.
He had looked after me, and poured hope into me on my loneliest days. Connor took me by the hand, leading me out the door.
Somehow I knew that I’d never be back on a shelf there. I’d be loved forever by someone who really wanted me.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Connor leads me to a shop, and the clerk looks at me in disgust.
“What do you want?” The madeup woman spits, she seems cranky and looks much like one of the old dolls that the keeper once had.
“She needs a dress.” Connor says sweetly, I hide behind him. My hand still holding his. The clerk rolls her eyes and wanders to the back of the store, coming out with a blue sundress with orange belt and a butterfly closure. I smiled sweetly as she walked to hand it to me. But she ignores it. I feel stronger as I hold onto Connor, my porcelain fingers begin to tingle. I begin to feel. I’m suddenly aware of my cheek brushing his shoulder as I wait behind him, barely peering around him to see the stout clerk. I step out and take the dress from her.
“Try it on.” Connor instructs me, softly and sweetly. It wasn’t rude or demanding.
“The dressing room is in the back.” The clerk points a well manicured finger to the back of the store and I quickly make my way to the back and into a dressing room and slide out of my dusty clothes. I see myself in the mirror, my nails catch my skin as I change. It’s soft, it’s not hard.. The cracks are now scars. I’m so mangled with them and I realize I’m just a mess.
I try to ignore it and change into the dress. I pick up my old clothes from the floor of the dressing room and walk out. The dress is a perfect fit, and it looks pretty. Even on me.

“You’re beautiful.” Connor nearly runs across the room, and his hands find my waist. He smiles and spins me around in a circle. I yelp, because Porcelain is delicate, but my landing was soft. It was squishy. My feet could feel the cool tile beneath my feet. Was I not porcelain? Was I really flesh and blood? I feel heat in my cheeks, were they turning pink? Perhaps. If I really was real, if I wasn’t a doll any longer.
“We’ll take it.” He says, and doesn’t let me speak. He hasn’t heard my voice yet. I haven’t ever heard my voice, to be honest.
Why was he taking me? I was so lost, broken and unwanted by hundreds. I had been left to collect dust. I was hurt and tossed around, left for dead when the shopkeeper found me. But he put me on a shelf, finding that I wasn’t repairable. Not for several years. Until Connor came along.

The clerk looked to my feet and saw they were bare, so she scrambled to the back of the shop once more.
She found me soft sandals and placed them on the counter, punching in a few things and bringing up the total. Connor didn’t bat an eye, he paid and took the sandals from the counter. Kneeling down, he placed them on the floor and put them on my feet.
“Thank you.” I croak, my voice catches in my throat and he stands, taking my hands in his. He kisses my forehead and smiles slightly.
“I’m so glad you were still there.”
Still there? What did he mean? Had I met him before? It was all fuzzy, I don’t remember much. But those green eyes seem to be etched into my mind the more I think about it.

The clerk ignores us and watches us as we walk out, my old clothes are in a bag which he carries. My red hair blows in the wind.
Scars wrap around my legs like vines, people stare and whisper. But he holds my hand tightly.
“What did you mean by still there?”
Connor froze and took a deep breath.
“You don’t remember?” He asks me, his grip on my hand loosening. “Your hands are soft.” He notes.
“Please, don’t avoid the question.” My voice wavers, and he looks over at me.
“I was always waiting, I searched everywhere for you. I went across the whole world to find you. I knew you’d be broken. But the shopkeepers heard I was looking for you. We met, before everything happened to you.” He paused and I felt tears slipping down my cheeks.
I had met him before, but he was always in the shadows.