Carry On

My chair stands out among all the rest. It is unique. My chair, like a diamond, is with many facets and colors in the light of the sun. It is split down the middle, the left glowing yellow with optimism and happiness, and the right is darkened with gray reflecting sadness and despair. It is bittersweet. One side stands strong--heroic, while the other is withered, worn, and old. One side triumphs, while the other hides in fear. The left is the comfiest and coziest chair around, while the right is rickety and falling apart. My chair is covered from top to bottom in dog hair, baby vomit, and potato chip crumbs.

My chair is stressful, and filled with weight from anxiety and the constant gravitational pull of fatigue. Sometimes this weight is unbearable, but other times it feels like nothing at all. My chair is like a mother to all in need—nurturing and carrying those who are unable to carry themselves, but still ongoing no matter what the heaviness. The left facet of the chair flaunts its war wounds and scars; Views them as trophies for hard times that were extinguished, being proud to go to war and fight for something. This side is never ashamed—viewing each step forward or back as a part of the journey or road ahead—never ending, but exciting in its curiosity. Never the less, all facets and I chug along, no matter what the weight or heaviness, not just because I depend on the chair, but for all of those who depend on me…