Here's a poem I found that I had saved back in 2004........... when I discovered his 1st affair.
The Chair
I feel like that old torn-up and battered chair you see turned on it's side at the edge of the road. I was discarded there as if I had no value...just a useless piece of trash. He found himself another chair...one that was fresher...one that was more comfortable...one that could make him feel good. One that didn’t complain! He tried this chair out, he liked it so much that he used it over and over again, until this same chair also began to feel too comfortable, too boring. Someone told me about his other chair and then he finally admitted he had found another. Now he has finally begun his journey searching for the chair he left on the side of the road. He has gently picked it up and brought it home. After being left in the elements for so long it is not quite the same, but he doesn't mind. Hopefully he will tenderly clean it and try to restore it. It is not strong enough to hold him now, but that's OK. He will derive pleasure from working to make it whole, so that one day he can again sit in the most beautiful, comfortable chair in the world and hopefully that chair will be strong enough to hold him, to wrap it’s arms around him and make him feel safe. Otherwise it will rot wherever it rests.
