thoughts from the inanimate
Maybe I have been situated here just to defy all rules of consistency. My ornate details and vintage sophistication stand out against these cool, gray walls as if contrasting them were my only job. I am unique and stately, after all, while the rest of the decor is as expected as an afternoon thunderstorm on a humid July day. Still, somehow we complement one another and the overall style and warmth of the space is embracing. My fellow roommates consist of a bench, three different sized cabinets and a grandmother clock. The floor that anchors us is covered in a multicolored rug where the huge desk sits in the exact center of the room. It holds the usual office necessities; laptop, a sleek black desk lamp, speakers, silver buckets of pens and markers, and a small bowl of paper clips. Often while she is working, she looks up at me over her computer screen and is drawn to cross the room and run her fingers along the curve of my back. She appreciates my hand-carved frame and soft, velvety perch. When a short rest is what she needs, usually in the late afternoon when the sun shines in through the large, south-facing windows, I am honored to hold her. More than a century's worth of existence has permeated my core releasing wafts of earth and dust, similar to that of old clocks and books, but she doesn't mind. In fact, she has a tendency to pull in deep breaths of my stale aroma making her eyes close without consent. I relish her admiration. For decades I was a throne for European upper-class, yet I had little pride in my circumstances. Now, as a $25 Craigslist find to my beloved, I seem to have found sweet and simple serenity.