When I write these posts
I sit on a rickety-old-wooden-chair in front of an antique desk.
- a matching set from my boyfriend's grandmother -
It motives me to sit on something so fragile.
As I shift, it creaks.
As I fold my legs, I feel the bones of my body
pressing into the hard wood.
It takes a small person to fit so perfectly in such a small chair.
Someday, I hope it doesn't even notice my presence.
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