In the back room of my less viewed thoughts, there is a little chair.
Wooden. Smooth and worn. I think I got it at some metaphysical yard sale.
They must have used it when they were doing something messy. It is stained a bit.
I had it for a while before I put it to use.
At first I just hung unused facades on it, too lazy to put them away after a night of
Being some other me.
Then, for a while, I thought I had lost it in a move when I lost my mind for a bit.
Finally though, I let someone Sit on it.
Not the most comfy chair. I know.
But it had a good view of my ways, and I could interact with the Sitter
From any angle
So, this was nice. This felt useful. Non wasteful.
But as things go, for me, I sort of kept the chair in the backroom.
It was nice to be able to walk by the doorway and enjoy the Sitter.
So, eventually, the Sitter got up to move around. Legs to stretch, you see.
So now the chair is empty again, and I find myself missing the Sitter.
It was nice to feel company near, in mind, even if not in flesh.
But now, when I come into that backroom, to maybe pick up some old jokes, say
I can see the chair isn’t as I thought it was.
That means the Sitter wasn’t either. Close, and still great.
There is a freedom in this.
You cant loose something that never was.
I now know that I had created the Sitter,
With romanticized indecision
Based on a chair that never was
Even in the back room of my less viewed thoughts
