A stain on the fabric of the chair.
The first, it brings a sense of relief.
I no longer hold my breath in tensed anticipation,
No longer wonder, “when will it happen, and how?”
This marks it officially used, officially mine.
I can quit being so damned careful and relax.
I can sit and think and eat and drink,
A worn person resting in a smirched chair.
We fit each other now.
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