Table.

I am not your table.

I am not made to carry the things that are too heavy.

I am not four legs.

I am not three legs.

I am two legs.

I am two legs and a brain and a heart.

Like a table, that can be broken.

Like a table, it will support you even when there are chairs available.

No, it's not what I am made for.

I was not meant to carry this sort of weight.

I was meant to carry newspapers. Magazines. A Vase.

This weight is unbearable. It makes me creak. And shake.

You stare at me. Chipped and exposed.

You know this is too much weight.

You hear the creaks.

You see the trembling legs.

Yet you still take a seat. You still lay across me.

You still use me wrongly...

I was meant to be here to rest your feet.

You should have a couch to sit on.

But you don't, do you?

Your couch was never delivered.

At this point we don't even know if it'll fit in the damn apartment.

So you can sit.

I'll support you.

My peace is in your smile.

In the fact that your feet are still getting the relaxation they need.

I'll be the couch. I'll be the table.

Just promise me you'll be okay

When I break.