The Empty Chair

I sit in my living room and look upon the empty chair. Once, a human being sat there, with life and love within him. A person with dreams, goals, and the ambition to achieve them all. Now there is only air. Empty air, dusty air, illuminated by the scant sunlight that drifts in through the dirty window.

I look upon the empty chair and remember the time I spent with him: going out and staying in… playing games and cleaning house… talking and laughing and arguing…. I remember that last argument vividly, for it was the last time I spoke with him.

Oh, how terribly empty that chair appears without a person in it! Nothing but worn cushions and threadbare pillows. A backrest with no back against it and armrests with no arms upon them. Where once there was life, now there is nothing but inanimate space.

Because that life is sitting in the terrarium instead of in the chair. I’m beginning to regret turning my roommate into a frog.

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