I have this chair. I never chose it, and if I were to pick, it likely would not be this one. Still, it's been with me the past four years and three apartments; a good, decent chair, and one I might have stuck with for the long haul. Today, my chair splintered into pieces under my weight, leaving me sprawled upon the floor, scrapes, bruises and all.
Was it my fault, or was it the chair's shoddy construction? What did I do wrong? What could I have done better? What was the turning point that set its collapse in motion? Did I not pay it enough attention or care? How could I have not noticed the cracks? There is no pain, only such shock that I don't even notice the gash across my left wrist. First blood.
A chair is like a relationship, and its beams the words and promises unfurled. I'm so lucky to have you in my life. You're my one and only, always and forever. I love you. Over time, these sentiments become the foundation upon which we sit, and when they lose meaning, we're caught off-balance, the world seemingly tumbling down around us.
When every chair falls apart, it's difficult to want to sit down again. But after the denial, anger, bargaining and depression we undoubtedly experience, we finally accept the hand dealt to us and move on. That, or find ourselves thrust upon another chair, lulled by its promises of being more sturdy, more impressive, much unlike the others.
Wishful thinking and empty words once again. Sometimes, I wonder if I really am that despicable, or simply that forgettable to always be the one left picking up the pieces. You tell me how much I mean to you, and make me open up to you; you tell me you would never hurt me, then you go and do the same thing with someone else.
No, thank you; I think I'll just stand for a while.
Comments (1)
why are you always so sad? did you graduate from penn? i can't remember why you're on my subscription list...