it is blatantly obvious that the couch does not match with the rest of the living room.
friends are always teasing me that it looks like their grandmother's wallpaper or the hideous pants their great aunt bought them. mom is always threatening to drag the couch out herself if i don't get rid of it. i'll laugh or brush them off or change the subject, but i always find an excuse.
and it's not that i think the couch is particularly attractive either.
but it reminds me of him.
and sometimes if i sit there long enough, i can still catch fleeting wisps of his cologne or the aftershave he used to use. but perhaps it is just my imagination. it has been several years, after all.
but whatever it is about that couch, it makes me remember how he used to hold me and tell me stories until i fell asleep in his arms and how every morning we would take turns trying to figure out the crossword puzzle before giving up in favor of cuddling or poetry or coffee.
and i cannot bear to get rid of it.
it makes it easier for me to forget that he is never coming back.