The Chair

There he sat again. At the same time everyday, he slowly makes his way towards that seat. He just sits there for what seemed like hours. He doesn't seem like he was waiting for something or someone. He doesn't seem like he was watching the stream or the people passing by or the trees and birds and other animals. He seems to be just sitting there without a care in the world. It seems like he is transported into another world. And maybe he is.

As he sit there, he looks so peaceful. In his solitude, it's as if he is another man. And maybe in his thoughts he is. Maybe he thinks he is somebody else, a billionaire, a powerful man, a famous celebrity. Perhaps he thinks he is with his family in a better place, with all the people he loves. Maybe he dreams that he has traveled the world, seen places and met people. Maybe he thinks he has no illness or that his wife and children are all safe and healthy and happy. Maybe he imagines that he is in a world with no war or hunger or poverty and sickness. Perhaps he dreams he is a better man.

In that chair he becomes everything he has ever wanted. In that seat he has everything he longs for. And if that chair gives him peace and happiness and contentment, then perhaps everyone should have a seat of their own.