the antiques sitting here collecting dust in their crevices the forever cycle of fake smiles placed on the plastered eyes shoved in the hollowness of it inanimate but still deserving of feelings so i cry when i look at them waiting for a whisper waiting for them to say βremember that time when..β
but i envy them not to be cursed with a soul because humanity is pitiful finding empathy in the inanimate feeling lonely enough to think an old chair is sad, jealous of replacement i envy the antiques