The Lonely Chair in My Office, An Autobiography.

I don’t usually listen to them. Chairs, I mean. But some of them do talk. There is this one in my office. Missing its armrests, buried in dust and grieving in silence. It had watched me for weeks. And finally, I watched back.

Strange, the things furniture can say when we’re still enough to hear. Good thing I gave it that moment.

Join me in a playful reflection on how we treat the things around us, and what they might think of us in return.

“I miss being useful,” the chair said, as I touched its cracked backrest. “I see people I once knew passing by every day and no one even raises a glance. I often find myself reminiscing about the sound of computers booting up each morning, the chatter and the laughter. I once sat through all their tense meetings, shared quiet lunch breaks with them, the very people who don’t even look at me now.

It’s been months since anyone wiped the dust off this old office chair. I remember when they used to care. I spent the nights in silence with my fellow chairs, while only the clock dared to break the hush, as the nightlight watched over us. I remember how the sunlight from the hall window would dim its soft glow each morning. The silence held, until the distant click of the lock marked the start of the day.

I still recall the time when people entered the room one by one with their cheerful “Good morning!” echoing through the room. I would wait for the familiar tug on my backrest, the moment I would be pulled from under the table to begin the day.

I remember when he lowered himself onto me. The press of his back against mine, the soft creak as I adjusted to hold him. I miss that closeness. I was made to hold a body, and now I only hold dust.”

As the chair shared what might be one of the saddest stories ever told by its kind, unnoticed and so easily overlooked by us, I realized I hadn’t forgotten a single detail. I could replay everything in my mind. Ashamed, I reached out and ran my hand along the chair.

“I want to be seen again,” it seemed to say. “But now, they only glance as they rush by. It’s been months since anyone really noticed me. I was made to serve them. I miss their company but I don’t like the way humans treat their things. I was there for them every day and I still wait, hoping that one day they will be here for me. Maybe, before my last day comes, somebody will stop. Not to use me, not to sit. Just to see me, to remember that I once mattered.”

A tap on my back broke the moment. I had to go. But the chair is still there, waiting for a listener.