Some people arrive like a soft season and leave before you realize how deeply they mattered. Others stay long enough to witness your becoming, holding your hand through versions of yourself you’d rather forget. The rocking chair is the soul who doesn’t flinch at your mess, who remembers you before the masks and milestones, who stays when there is nothing to gain but the honor of knowing you well.
The strong, steady chair belongs to the one who builds life beside you, not above you—who chooses you on ordinary Tuesdays, in traffic, in arguments, in quiet victories no one else sees. And then there is the simple chair: the one you avoid, then return to every time the room empties. It is the moment you realize you are your own constant home. Whichever chair you choose first, life keeps leading you back to that final, unshakable seat—where you learn that every other love is stronger when you no longer abandon yourself.
