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Catharsis, an Ode to my Couch
I love you.
You were the first piece of furniture we bought for our own.
You are stuffed with dreams and hypotheticals; what-ifs and potentials.
You were for my reception. You were for writing songs & playing Minecraft.
You were for my Taki-dusted hands and my fast-growing cat.
You were for crying & sleeping on when the bed was too big and too cold.
I pictured you in McMinnville; I bought you for my first home.
For a room of guitars and ash trays and lava lamps and open chip-bags.
For candid conversations and hugs and drunken collapse and intimate naps.
As much as I love you, you are not mine to love. I need one stuffed with reality and opportunity. Full of whens and now. Sometimes we must mourn dreams, so we can wake up and find our better, rightful place.
Plus you are old as hell, and you age my back.
You were the first piece of furniture we bought for our own.
You are stuffed with dreams and hypotheticals; what-ifs and potentials.
You were for my reception. You were for writing songs & playing Minecraft.
You were for my Taki-dusted hands and my fast-growing cat.
You were for crying & sleeping on when the bed was too big and too cold.
I pictured you in McMinnville; I bought you for my first home.
For a room of guitars and ash trays and lava lamps and open chip-bags.
For candid conversations and hugs and drunken collapse and intimate naps.
As much as I love you, you are not mine to love. I need one stuffed with reality and opportunity. Full of whens and now. Sometimes we must mourn dreams, so we can wake up and find our better, rightful place.
Plus you are old as hell, and you age my back.
Published 1st Oct 2022
Author's Note
Couches, things, people. Stop finding placeholders and do.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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