I've lived in this upstairs apartment for years--so long that rumors don't even remember how I came to be here. I mostly just sat here in this corner, facing the front door hoping that someone would want me. They sat me here, they danced around and had friends over. They fought despite my presence. Eventually they all left, cycling in and out in twelve-month intervals. Signing new leases and leaving me here to watch them. They all came, they all ignored me and they all left.
And then you showed up. You in your fresh faced enthusiasm and a need for a place of your own. You weren't like the others. You didn't like me much in the begining, but I was used to that and I didn't even feel it. But one day you looked at me and you took me as your own.
Remember that first night? We listened to Jay-Z, an interesting musical choice for such an
occasion. You undressed me of all of my hardware. You bathed me and smoothed my edges. You made me soft and receptive. You touched me and I finally felt like someone could see me for what I could be. Someone loved me. Someone wasn't afraid of my size or my age or my uselessness. You changed me. You changed me from an ordinary china hutch into a statement piece. A bookshelf.
That's why it pains me to write this letter. You see, I've sat up here in this apartment for years, unseen by anyone even those who lived here and now it's time for me to go. You've changed me--do you understand? You've changed me into something better and bigger than this triplex. I need a renovated loft, can't you see?
God, I wish I could take you with me but this is something I have to do on my own. I'm sure you'll understand one day. I've stacked all of the books into neat little piles on your dining room table (I kept Waiting for Godot, I'm just about finished with that and then perhaps I'll mail it to you--we'll work something out) but by the time you read this letter, I'll be gone.
(your beloved china hutch turned bookshelf)
You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it's from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say? www.writersdigest.com