Monkey me

I want to remember a small glimmer of light from the darkness I felt last night.

There is this little stuffed monkey I gave Jon for Valentines day because I call him my monkey. Well from my mother I have picked up the habit to make pets and stuffed animals carry on personalities. And when I am in a silly mood I have the monkey talk to Jon. Well, he absolutely hates it (which makes me sad) but doesn't keep me from doing it. He has even taken the monkey from me and thrown it across the room. Not in a mean way, In a way as if "ok, you have annoyed me enough"

We last night while I was trying to control myself from crying hestirically with my head buried in a pillow, Jon comes to lay down next to me and brings the monkey (which I assume is to just let me hold him) but he begins to give the monkey a personality. Which meant the world to me because I know how much he hates it when I do it to him.

And even with my constant sadness, he kept going letting me know that not only does my little monkey love me, but the big monkey loves me unconditionally.