When I woke up this morning, my pillow was stained blue.

Such a different color from the dyed leather red of that night.

When we sat on that couch.

It had been our first time on that couch--sitting on any couch together.

We ate ice cream and talked.

The chairs were so funny, I still remember.

Neon-clear plastic, with a silver stick basin.

They didn't even cover your low back.

Maybe I should have known by then,

if that's where we were starting.

Our love would only be a fad.

Nobody likes looking at those stupid neon chairs.

They are so ugly.

But, I guess, just how the restaurant thought they were popular,

A pretty sight,

So did we think that of ourselves.

You pointed that out not too long ago.

Not about the chairs, but about us.

Who cares about the public? About trends?

If we like the way we are together, then what's the problem?

You made it sound like it was everybody else's fault.

But I think it was just you.

You couldn't admit you didn't like those chairs.

Were they not good enough for you?

Not pretty enough?

Were their bottoms too wide?

Well, they held you up for a while there, kiddo.

They wanted to be your support.

They wanted you to relax.

They wanted to make you happy.

Now what's going to happen?

Where do the chairs have purpose if nobody wants to sit?

They'll just stay there--alone and cold.

Saddened and hardened by the cold-drawn wind.

Perhaps someone else will come and sit on them, yes...

But will he have your touch? Your laugh they love to hear?

Your smile that makes them so happy?

No. No they won't. And as much as they want to sit and be happy,

They won't be you. And the chairs can't get used to that.

They'll sit and they'll cry. But you can't see it

Because they'll be stone faced.

Then one day, when the fades have passed, and the managers have gone away,

Some new people will come and take those chairs.

They'll throw them away--those ugly, stupid chairs.

Whoever thought of those stupid chairs anyway?

They're so dumb. They didn't even cover all of your back.

They'll throw away the couch too. And the counters and the friends.

And the memories of talking about music and happiness.

They'll throw away the ice cream, and the toppings,

And all the the things that make people happy.

And they'll turn it into a box company where so can take all their stuff that they don't want and stick it in some box somewhere and pretend that it's of good use, but just stick it on the shelf, growing dust and mold and spider eggs.

And one day, nobody will come and throw the box away.