What I Wouldn't Give For: an armrest

I am sitting. I am sitting as a bird flies without wind. I am sitting spilling out of the chair. Unencumbered my limbs are, claiming personal space and ruggedly braving the elements of unconfined. I could brush up against this man's arm and claim his arm space for the kingdom my my arm. He very well could hock his burly arm to seize my area. His arm is more hirsute than mine.

I am sitting with antsy elbows. Gravity has gotten the best of them, and they can't rest- points digging- in my lap much longer. No these elbows shouldn't be touching me at all. These elbows are dangerous and should be treated as such. These elbows need to stop, these elbows need an anchor. These elbows, oblivious to reason.

Though this chair reaches basic chair requirements- sitting on it- this chair is not comfortable. It does not have the nestled-in, the at-ease feeling of sitting. This chair makes me judgmental. This chair makes me detached. This chair is not the chair for me.

The day has been long, my arms have been used. These arms. These arms that hold my hands, these arms that hold certain muscles, these arms that itch under certain sweaters. These arms are tired, this chair helps them none.

O- what I wouldn't give for an armrest.