I have always wanted an armchair. Ever since I sunk down into my pop’s old maroon velvet armchair at the age of 5, I have wanted one. Something about their wide wings that are spread, eager to welcome you in, inviting you to join and stay as long as you like.
The thought of escaping into its arms with your favourite books, transported through perils, trials, and adventures in comfort of this chair, this is what I hope I will have when I find the perfect one for me.
When I have my own armchair I imagine it will be a place into which I can retreat, like Narniac piece of furniture, where hours will pass and it may seem like seconds, and where seconds pass, it may be hours. My armchair will have no clocks tick-tocking, no schedule to keep, no. Nothing but the warmth of refuge.