The Lifelong Love Story of a Table and His Owner Jas Saunders
I am a table. Welcome to the room. Please, take a seat on the sofa across from me.
But then again, we’ve gone through so much together.
If it helps, put your coffee mug upon me, but please, use that coaster!
This stain? A reminder of your 3rd exboyfriend. You told him that it wouldn’t work, it wasn’t his fault, but yours. He didn’t really understand. He spilt his drink over me when he waved his arms. Yelling that he had tried, oh so hard, to make it work.
Tell me stories. About you. Your childhood? What was it like? Your first kiss? It warms my heart to hear you tell that story. But it hurts to know that you’re sharing these stories with other people. Not me. I’m just a dinky little table, a remnant of your university years.
32
You cried when he left. You knew why you didn’t love him. The fact he didn’t understand tore you apart.
The business school’s lift goes allll the way down
