At least, I thought I had a purpose. I thought I knew who I was.
Soon I came under pressure. At first, I sprang back. I could handle it. I was a service to others, and I was proud.
But I had a hidden side, hidden even to myself, a built-in internal stickiness, a limit to my abilities. I could not spring back forever … or even for very long.
Pressure defeated me, left me flat, unyielding, useless. I lost my purpose in the world … and too soon, I will crumble into dust.
Now I can only remember soft days and soothing nights. Apparently, that’s what my name means. Memory foam is merely the memory of foam.