Floorboards creak under my bare feet
Inviting the past to creep up through
The cracks and crevices
Running like veins through
tarnished oak, splintered
with stories of pitter and patter
Touching the soles of soul after soul
Some desperate for the foundation
To open wide and swallow them whole
Long panels meet cornered molding
For the first time
It would seem
Unclear as to who provides the adhesive
What can only be assumed to be
Longitude and latitude colliding
To form a perfect enclosure.
I will paint you with colors
you weren’t able to see yourself in.
For every chance you will never take,
I will leap with your bravery.
The center of your world
is unknown to me –
But I will navigate through the labyrinth
you built around your heart,
for as long as it takes.
The chair in the corner doesn’t have a name. It doesn’t know the bitter taste of betrayal. It cannot feel the bite of regret. It can hold me. It embraces all it cannot have for itself. Supporting all the weight of me. The heavy, the tangible. Its arms are stable, steadfast and strong. When I am curled up in them I feel protected, enclosed by walls of comfort. These arms are soft and assure me that they mean no harm. They lift me up and settle me down. They are a constant supply of everything I need at any moment I might need it. The chair does not have a reason to feel emotion. The chair does not feel but it does feel for me. Absorbing the heat, the strife, the angst and the grime. I shed my skin in the chair, letting it hold me I am bare and naked. The chair sees me as I am. The chair doesn’t know the way I look outside these 4 walls. It only knows what I release. It only knows the heaviness. The burden, the sighs.
The chair knows disappointment. It recognizes defeat and loneliness. Having provided sweet relief from tears and sweat, the relentless world rubbing salt in fresh open wounds. The chair has developed a pallet for savory things. It yearns only for flavors it knows. It yearns truly for nothing, because the chair cannot yearn. It cannot feel. It cannot state opinion or fact or debate matters of the heart and mind. The chair is unmoving. Understated. Understanding. It encourages me to sink deep into its crevasses, the nooks of the cushions, the friction of the fabric against my skin. The chair pulls me in. Wraps its arms around me and says “Stay a while. I will hold you for as long as you need holding.”