'‘Where were you?’'
This chair waited. The loyalty of a soldier to its tyrant. To stand at attention for its duty yet again. And every time I left my chambers, where cold and grief stricken, I’ll assist to the warm-heartedness I’ve so missed. Though, to grow tougher throughout the seasons, I could not ask for any more support. The comfort that helped my chapped hands talk more, aided to the slouch of this dignitary faux, and begged the posture for forgiveness each time my muscles would adjust to even more assumption.