…and who am I?

Every morning she gets out of bed,
I feel like I can finally breathe,
like something as big as a watermelon,
has been lifted off of me.

Sometimes I am crushed like a bug,
between the back of the bed and her,
I feel broke, dismantled, abysmal,
but all I can really do is endure.

Sometimes I am kissed so hard,
it would make any onlooker shy;
I’m hugged so tight that it breaks,
those nonexistent bones of mine.

Sometimes I give her a slip,
move while she’s not watching,
settling in right, after many tries,
for her is very much rewarding.

Sometimes she loses me at night,
while she is fast asleep,
but even in her slumberous state,
she finds me to retrieve.

Sometimes I absorb a loud scream,
or take a few throws and punches,
some head bangs even at times,
it’s not always roses and peaches.

Sometimes in the middle of the night,
I feel a few drops of water pool,
sometimes they are painful tears,
other times it’s just some drool.

Sometimes when sadness takes over,
I feel like taking away her pain,
make all her dreams come true,
and tell her that it’ll all be okay.

Alas! I am just her favorite pillow,
an object lying around on her bed,
but I have seen every single thing,
and have always been there.