you slept with friends I knew,
and friends I didn’t,
and friends I made after long weekends passed.

covered in tears of anger, love, and sadness
when I didn’t want to be,
and laughter, love, and hangovers
when I deserved it.

you provided comfort for heavy conversations,
that were still never as heavy as you.
followed and stayed in places
i’ll never live again.

you taught me bigger isn’t always better.
to invite what’s genuine into your home,
especially if it’s leather.

you won’t be the last seating I own,
now you’re helping someone move again,
so after all the people you introduced me to,
you’ve earned the title of an inanimate friend.