Oh brown cushions.
Why was I seduced by your perfect shade of chocolatey goodness, the sexy cotton velveteen covers, which brought to mind so many seventies modular lounges?
Why did I indulge in four, yes four of you?
I should have known it was folly.
For now, you sit, adorning the lounge with your soft velvety beauty, but it is all a sham.
Your are stuffed with down, to lounge against you is to know the comfort of using an scrubbing brush for a bolster.
Lint is relentless in it’s pursuit of you.
You are, in short, a cushiony disaster.
Curse you brown cushion, I may never be able to give myself to another with such abandon.
Who knows if I will ever love again.