Nights around the table

Today is the day, that I have to give my favorite piece of furniture away. For the last time I touch the wood of the deep brown mahogany table.

I’ve spend a lot of time sitting on this table. Some nights were lonely. I could hear the clock ticking the time away. Those were not my favorite nights. I can remember how released I felt after a night of writing, seeing the first sunbeams coming through the window, touching the flowers in the vase next to me.

Besides the lonely nights, there were also nights full of cheer and laughter. The beer would fill the glasses over and over again. People were dancing, and you could hear the singing from miles away. Those nights would be over in the blink of an eye. Not like the nights alone. But the good nights would also last until the same sunbeams would touch the sticky mahogany wood and the people would go home.

It will never be like that ever again. There is no money for beer, flowers or the table itself. Never again will the sunlight touch the mahogany wood in the early mornings.

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