Dear Blue Chair

While meeting with my writing group today, one of them mentioned a writing exercise she did for a class she is taking. So I felt inspired to do something similar. Here is a Dear John letter to an old piece of furniture.

Dear Blue Chair,
You came into our lives already well used, but still in your prime. Kyle fell instantly in love with you, spending evenings in your upholstered embrace. Your generous arms were a welcome hug after a long day, and the ottoman was nice enough to support Kyles long legs.

The cats loved you, and I'm sorry about how they expressed their affection. When you came to us, you were a bit worn, but over-all, intact. Now every edge and corner is scratched to tatters. I don't know why they chose you and never scratched any of the other furniture. It was unfair of them, and we should have intervened sooner. But it didn't make us love you any less. Not even when there was that ominous crack from the ottoman that time and it started sagging in the middle.

Every person I know and love has sat on you. They all realized the danger as soon as they rested their rump on your jean-colored cushion. You were so comfortable, you drew everyone in. I always warned them it was nearly impossible to get up again, but you were just too tempting.

There was that two week stretch when I was so sick I couldn't sleep in bed. You and I had a great time. You didn't mind when I coughed all night and helped me get comfortable so I could sleep. I was kinda sad when I was well enough to go back to the bed. Don't tell the bed I said anything, though.

So I've come to the reason for this letter. My heart breaks as I tell you that you can no longer be in our living room. Please don't hate the new couch. Just like you, it was free and used. You have a lot in common. But the new couch is big enough for Kyle to lie down, which is an amazing thing for a tall guy like him. I know he could do that with you too, but no one could sit with him. Oh, I know we tried a few times, me jammed against your arm, awkwardly curled on top of Kyle, one leg braced on the floor to keep my position. It's not your fault. You are a chair. You can't be something that you are not. And we needed more seating for the living room.

But we still love you, Blue Chair. We can't bear to part with you. We don't care that you are old and that the cats have shredded your edges. We don't care that your cushions are crushed and slightly stained on both sides. You are still beautiful to us. So we moved you into the upstairs room. It seems a cold thing to do. I know we don't use that room much, and you don't get to see us anymore. But that's why I set up the puzzle table in there. You know how much I love puzzles. I come in and play some music, work on the puzzle, and hang out with you. I know it's not the same, but I hope you are happy.

Someday, your room will be the babies room. We'll have to take out the futon and the boxes of unorganized stuff we keep saying we'll organize someday. But you'll stay. There will be a crib and a baby. And we'll be up all night again, needing a very comfortable chair to sit in. So for now, I know it's a little lonely up there, but you haven't been forgotten.