From the ages of 2 to 5, my best friend was Couchie — a ratty corduroy pillowcase leftover from my parents’ old couch. What started off as a full pillowcase with two sides and a zipper became, after years of smelling and face rubbing, a pile of loosely connected light brown threads that I would carry in a ball wherever I went. Couchie smelled like sweat and farts and something burning (smells I still love today). I inhaled so much of Couchie’s being that I believe Couchie is now a part of me on a molecular level. Couchie was my partner in crime, my bedtime buddy, and most of all, my source of soothing calm.
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