I feel sad for rooms that are left alone and unused. It’s funny, often the largest of rooms are the most neglected; initially praised for their existence, we save them for a special occasion, fill them awkwardly with family heirlooms, then discard them with barely a shrug because they feel too uncomfortable. Before we know it, we see them as a growing nuisance of a rabbit hole, falling into the center of our (seemingly) perfect home.
If I was a living room, I would want to speak up; curious to know why you had let me fall apart. All that potential, accidentally stifled by good intentions. If you didn’t hear me, I would scream quite loud, and tell you to use me (well, that might sound odd, but you know what I mean) and ask you where all the joy had gone. I would perhaps even move the furniture around when you weren’t looking; like a very decorative ninja, opening curtains, and making small, neat piles by the doorway.
I couldn’t draw you a picture, because rooms can’t draw, but if I could speak, this is what I would say…
Why not bring the furniture closer, so you can talk to your friend without raising your voice or leaning awkwardly towards her.
How about a table and a coaster for that glass of wine?
Let’s put that sofa over there, instead of here (don’t ask me why, but that’s what “they” always say, and if they say it then it must be true).
Open the curtains, it’s a gorgeous day outside!
Why don’t you put away some of those things you don’t like, that you got from that person you don’t like?
Can you really read with that single, piddly light?
Let’s have some fun, and invite someone over!
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