The only thing that gets me. And I am the only one that gets it. One rigid chair weak at the joints like myself. One weak excuse for a chair that still has purpose. It’s squeaks tell a story of more prosperous days. So many rear ends in acquaintance.

Its strength is transparent. Each leg with a different dent and a different story. Once part of a family collected in a circle, but now there is no purpose, only one to support.

With just one leg missing the chair would collapse. Each thin piece of wood working together. In all its weaknesses I see strength.

When I am down, and I need something to relate, I find this chair. It gives me hope, through all its knicks and dents it persevered. And here it is, still with a purpose after all these years.