Worn

I was looking out the window in the living room this morning and I took a good look at my couch. Even though it is only 4 years old, it is well worn. From cats to children to just watching tv. It has scars from the cats stretching their claws, it has stains from who knows what and it is worn just from the small amount of time it has existed in our home.

This morning I really identify with this couch. Even though I am not old, I feel old. I have scars where people and life have come through, I have stains on me from things that I have done and things that have happened in my life and to me. And I just feel worn. Not worn out - just well used. I'm not sure that I can explain it any better than that. Over the last few days I have mentioned that I wish that I had a better vocabulary, a better way to speak what I feel. Like a writer who brings you into the story and you see and feel what the main character is going through. I don't express myself very well.

This deep down feeling just exists whether I share it or explain it. I don't know where it came from, I just know that it is here. This worn, used, old feeling. Like some antique item that has lived so long and has some history and it shows in every nook and cranny of the item. That's me today. An antique that needs to sit in the corner and not be used because it is fragile and old and something may happen to it. With that I guess comes the need to be well taken care of and loved so that it does not fall apart or crack. Cause well that would be bad.