The Love that Held my Feet  by Debbie Fogle

            So many things have come and gone in my life, but there was one true love that lasted a century. This love was part of numerous profound, meaningful, and questionable moments of my life.

Friends asked me if I found a new religion. Family asked if I need to “speak with someone”, which we all know is a polite question if I need to see a shrink. During this moment, I was extremely appreciative over any concern regarding the recent demise of yet another relationship.

            It was time to make a change. What kind of change could I make that I haven’t already tried? This would be a love like no other. I was determined not to repeat my wrongs. How long would this love last? Would I survive another heartache if this relationship failed?

I decided to go for it. I accepted the responsibility of the new relationship. When the new stimulant arrived, I was wanting to completely change the colors that enveloped my life. I confirmed my new love could accept all my colorful personalities.

I was gleaming with inquisitive future planning. I could bring in a splash of excitement with color to change my mood every week. An experimental position change could vamp up a humdrum evening into a whirlwind of excitement.

            The luxury of having this new love revealed my internal desire to have my own little piece of heaven. Whether I was having the best day ever or the worse day yet, my new love was there for me.

            Most of my belongings were sold at a big yard sale, before I moved to Oklahoma. I surprised myself when I couldn’t separate myself from my love. My love was brought into my new household. I once again felt a home could be made with a bit of furniture and decorations on the walls.

            I think it was more wishing than thinking. I accepted the fact two and a half years later, I had failed at another relationship for myself. I realized I married for the wrong reasons.

            Marriage works for some people. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work for me. I packed up the remaining items in a borrowed pickup truck and moved into a rental house until I could figure out what to do. I moved again, and my love followed me during my troubled times. Once, again in my life, the love that held my feet comforted me on numerous nights.

            This love is no longer with me. We parted ways when I moved into a smaller household and didn’t have room to spare.

            I miss my ottoman. The ottoman that held my tired, worrisome feet for over eleven years. So many books have been read by the comfort and accommodations of my ottoman. So many worrisome thoughts were shared with my ottoman.

But I know the one question that is on all of your minds: “Why would she buy off-white furniture?” 

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