Caleb treats your baby blanket like gold. He remembers the days when you couldn't sleep without it. When you would grow anxious at far too young of an age if you couldn't locate your comfort item.
"It's okay. You couldn't have left it far. C'mon, I'll help you find it." Back then, Caleb would always hold your hand through your tears. Delicately lifting you onto your wobbling knees. He'd walk you around with him, searching high and low while you 'helped' him.
Caleb would always end up finding it within a few minutes. He'd present the item to you with his free hand, smiling as you snatched it from his grasp.
"There you go. No need to be sad anymore." Caleb's would brush the tears off of your soft, chubby cheeks. Pulling the sleeve of his sweater over his hand he'd wipe the dribbling snot away from your cute nose. He didn't want you to get your blanket gross again after you had only just gotten it back.
But you, as children always do, got to the age where you started to resent the comfort of your childhood. You grew embarrassed of your dependency on the blanket that was slowly getting too small to cover you.
He tried his best back then to assure you there was no reason to be ashamed. It was good to have something that made you feel safe. But you never listened to him about anything, did you?
Then, the night you decided once and for all that you would never sleep with your baby blanket again came. But it wasn't you who had trouble sleeping that night. It was Caleb. He snuck up into the attic, fishing through the box your blanket was neatly folded into. He fell asleep that night with the blanket cuddled up in a ball in his arms.
Now, Caleb was so far away from that home. The interior of his residence was bleak, lifeless. But there was one thing in his house that stood out. A tiny blanket, far too small for his bulky frame, that smells of floral laundry detergent and the warmth of a dryer.
It was never you who needed to cling to the past for comfort. It was always Caleb.
