A good sofa, couch is so many things. A friend, a confidant, your most ardent supporter. It embraces you when you're downtrodden and depressed. It bounces with you when you're happy and at your best. It's a host, a womb, a sanctuary, a nest. Lay on it, sit on it, eat on it, fuck on it, sleep on it. Do what you will.
It keeps your secrets tucked away between cushions. Historical accounts of your life archived in dust, crumbs, sloughed off bits of you. Teddy Ruxpin got lost in a green one with wicker arms. I lost my virginity behind a green leather one with recliner seats.
What's your most treasured sofa saga?
photo by lillian & leonard, with thanks.