I have a stuffed animal named Brutus. Brutus serves as my right-hand dog, and even though he doesn’t bark or wag his tail, he feels just as real to me as a breathing dog.

I keep over 30 stuffed animals around my room. Each one has a name, personality, and quirks. I eat with them and talk to them. They play a part in my everyday life, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.

You might think it’s childish for me, at 18 years old, to be surrounded by stuffed fabric with button eyes. But to me, they’re so much more than that.

I have a swing at my neighborhood park. I carved my name on the bottom to show that it’s my possession. In reality, it belongs to the borough of Emmaus, but in my heart, it belongs to me.

You might think that’s stupid — but is it?

When you find someone you appreciate, you feel gratitude. You share everything with that person, and they hug you when you get upset. When you make a new friend, you enjoy sleepovers, watch movies, and read stories together. Do you love that person because they breathe, or do you love them because they make you feel human? Would you love that person less if they couldn’t talk?

I believe my love for inanimate objects makes me human. Loving something incapable of loving me back has given me more insight into myself than any self-help book I’ve ever bought.

I used to feel dumb. I often asked myself why these seemingly meaningless objects meant so much to me. Through my questioning, I found answers. I desire to be seen. Who sees you better than the stuffed animals facing your bed for as long as you can remember? Who understands you better than the swing you grew up sitting on?

And when everyone you know dies, who will remember you?

In a sense, my ‘meaningless’ inanimate objects reflect me. My skin cells are embedded in Brutus’s fur; my tears are soaked into his stuffing. The oil from my skin has rusted the chain of my favorite swing, and my name is carved into its body.

Pieces of me will forever exist in the crevices of things I’ve loved. When you desire to be seen, what’s more comforting than knowing you can never truly die? That you will always have the chance to be discovered?

We will all die one day. It’s inevitable.

But here’s a thought: when someone you love passes, their pillowcase will remember them for eternity. In its fabric and being, they will live forever.

When your fish dies, the water it swam in will spread its cells and saliva; the ocean will remember.

When you die, your favorite clothes will hold your memories for you. Your TV will forever display your favorite shows etched into its history.

And when I die, my stuffed animals will remember me. Even in the garbage, even in the landfill. The proof of my existence will live in the microfibers of Brutus. The impact of my hands will forever remain in the rust they leave behind.

I will live on forever.

And so will you.