Antiques with heart

Today I sit in the same position I have sat in for the past seven years. Precisely every hour 13 blue birds , 4 robins, and a family of blonde Swedish children pop out of their cuckoo clocks and let me know that another sixty minutes had passed and still no one has showed the slightest interest in me. My life isn’t all lacklustre, when the old man closes the shop up, the flamingo; every figurine, the seventy year old gold plated lamp, and the chandelier family all meet up around my father the grand table. Approximately three years ago four of my brothers had been chosen for use and now all that remains of my family is my father, my sister and I. My father is a very round man, he had other children before but over the years they have gotten lost, he is over fifty years old and he is as sturdy and strong as the day he was created. He tells us about his life, his previous owners, and his escapades. For every scratch on his surface lies a miraculous tale of significance. When I ask him about my mother he tells me that tables don’t necessarily have mothers. They have creators, builders and my siblings and I were made to accompany him through his travels. From the moment my brothers were taken my father said our chance of being desired has decreased immensely, we were built as a set and when a part of that set is missing there isn’t much use for it anymore. While I sit during the daylight I often hope my father is wrong , I hope people can look beyond what is absent and witness what is present ; a great collection of antiques with heart.