The Table

When I was growing up, our kitchen table was the focal point of our house. It was used for family meals, family discussions, where a lot of family arguments started and ended, and it was even used to complete our homework from school. My fiancé and I found a table of our own when I was visiting her in Virginia and as far as tables go, it was not much to look at but it came represent so much to us. It was old picnic table, it used to be red but most of the paint had peeled off, the back bench was broken in half, and the table showed signs of decay all over the place.


My fiancé and I had the most amazing, random discussions at this table. These discussions ranged anywhere from the Bible to Maxi Pads (please don't ask why I was actually discussing Maxi Pads). Our conversations could be funny, irreverent, meaningful, and intellectual, but they were always good. We also used this table as a confessional. We had decided long before this that the past needed to stay in the past but there were things we felt like we needed to bring up. Before we left this last time, I told my fiancé that this table had come to represent so much to us that we should get a picture of it. My fiancé, having an extremely artistic mind, came up with this:

I wouldn't say we fell in love at this table but this broken down relic of picnics past came to symbolize us and our relationship. We had been through a lot but much like the table, we had made it through it.