I am such a creature of comfort, it's painful,
Living with familiar things, worn and faithful,
My three-legged table, broken but by my side,
New ones call, but they can't replace our history.
Repairing it is a dream denied,
But I find comfort in its lopsided grace,
You might think I'm a hoarder, but I only keep what I need,
Each possession chosen with care, a piece of my soul.
In their presence, I find rare solace,
Discarding them would leave a gap,
I cling to my flawed table; it's mine,
In its imperfection, I find love.
So here I stay, with my three-legged table,
A creature of comfort in a rushed world,
In its fragile balance, I cherish the past,
And the memories it holds.
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