I have a wooden stool that is one of my dearest possessions to this day. I keep it in my room and I cherish it as if it were made of gold.
Back in high school, I had a very close friend in the same art class; we were inseparable.
One day, our arts and crafts teacher asked everyone to paint a wooden stool as they pleased. Afterward, the wooden stools would be put up for sale at the school fair.
I fell instantly in love with my friend’s stool! It looked gorgeous, and I found that it truly symbolized who she was and what she liked.
I purchased her wooden stool without her knowing.
I still remember the expression on her face when I told her I bought the stool. She had that surprised facial expression with raised eyebrows, widened eyes, and was speechless. She was so happy; she couldn’t believe what had happened.
Life went on, and we moved to different cities. She struggled with her mental health for some years, and then one day I received a phone call from a mutual friend. My dear friend took her own life. I couldn’t believe it. She was so young.
For many months, I felt sad, and dismayed. I tried to recall all my recent encounters with her, but I couldn’t remember a single moment she was genuinely happy. Then suddenly, I looked at the wooden stool, and I remembered that there was a time when she truly seemed content with life.
So, now, every time I stare at the wooden stool, it takes me back to the day I bought the stool. I can vividly recall her smile and the expression on her face. It was a time when she was just a girl unburdened by life, when she was young and joyful.
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