Furniture
Sometimes she feels like furniture. It’s not entirely uncomfortable.
It often feels quite necessary. Some days she is the overstuffed armchair that’s been there as long as you can remember. She is where you curl up when you’re sad and cold. You pick absently at the stuffing that is escaping the hole in the arm. It takes your mind from what bothers you. The familiar feel of the fabric on your cheek, catches your tears until you fall asleep and then wake up feeling drained, but warm and better.
