Two chairs sat in a large room. They were placed in separate corners, facing each other. Carpet, a coffee table, lamps, and bits of this and that filled the space between.
Conversation between friends who sat in the two chairs happened, but frequently a thought, a sentence, a word was dropped and landed in the space between.
To be heard, the voices were loud and strained. Before too long the words stopped. The conversation between the two chairs, the two people, became an exchange of polite smiles.
One day the two chairs were rearranged. Now they sat side by side against a wall. A table with a lamp separated them. Two friends sat in these chairs, facing forward, and said little to the other. They tried, but could not see the other’s face, eyes, gestures. Any attempts to engage a conversation happened under the brim of the lampshade. Words were brief, to the point, or not at all.
It was not long before the room was rearranged yet again. The two chairs were moved closer together, now facing each other – with enough room for two sets of knees and a bit more. Eyes and faces could be seen. Voices could be lowered, softened, and still heard. Slight expressions of body language were noticed, translated, then filed away for future responses. The table and lamp were placed beside the chairs to provide light as well as a place for a beverage or anything needed to enhance and support the conversation like a book, a journal, a photograph, a tissue.
Knee to knee.
Face to face.
Heart to heart
Soul to soul.
The stories tumbled toward the other, now heard and acknowledged. Received, thoughtfully reflected, and returned. The conversation grew from words to sentences to paragraphs, sharing the ordinary and extraordinary moments of living life. The slightest facial expressions were noticed. The silences were honored, fully felt, fully held.
The two chairs were comfortable, as were the two friends who sat in them.