It is only a chair

...that sits memories of conversations of time gone by and the special scent of individual voices and the textures of their words.

It is not this chair if it has not heard and felt life- its ebbing and beginning and missing those that will not sit on it again. 

I bought this primitive love seat more than 30 years ago from my sisiter sister, and it has been, ever since, the documentarian of my life. It does not complain except for its creaking when it wants a little attention. 9/100 #100daysofblogging