Newton would have been proud of that armchair, of my perfected inertia, the soft cushions pushing me up every bit as much as my body pushed earthward.
The armchair had been the seat of my dreams these many years as I relaxed in nature's woven moments.
The armchair so soft and warm was a sort of functional teddy bear, a place to rest and take sanctuary.
The armchair was my throne and my cocoon as my emotions waxed and waned, my imagination ever transforming it into the very thing required.
The armchair cushions take the form of my body and it is such bliss. The hours will pass, just me, the television and a popcorn bowl on my lap. This stupidly comfortable chair is the the hug I need when there is nobody to hug me, when the best I can do is enjoy some quiet time and my own company.
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