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This is an open letter to my couch: I remember the day I first laid my eyes on you.
You looked so inviting, but your price tag wanted me to turn away.
Did I want to go with my heart or my head?
My heart was saying: ''Yes, buy this magnificent couch'', but my head was saying: ''No, look how expensive it is''.
But how could I resist your luscious black curves and your ever-so-comfy cushions?
It was almost as if the creases in you were creating a face that was yelling out to me to buy you.
I realised you were an investment that would be the focus point in my lounge.
I made sure they wrapped you up in cotton wool to protect you from all the horrible things in the big open world.
You had to be handled with the utmost care when boarding the truck that would take you to your final resting place.
Back at home, I dusted all the other furniture, vacuumed the floor, organised the shelves and straightened the photo frames until the place was looking immaculate, and not a single piece of dust or dirt could be found.
The house couldn't be anything but perfect for your arrival.
I moved you into your correct place, right in front of the lounge window, beside the fire and facing the television. You fitted in perfectly.
The years have gone by and you're still standing, but with the help of a piece of firewood and a pile of books that you lie on top of.
My memories are both good and bad.
From staying up all night, lying on you watching television with the fire roaring, to sticking to you on those hot summer days.
You have saved me on countless occasions from the lava that is the floor.
You have silenced the arguments of ''who stole the remote?'' by hiding it down the gap between your cushions.
You were the castle in our blanket forts.
When I was sick, I would lie on you all day long with a box of tissues in one hand, a hot drink in the other, and covered with a nice big blanket.
You were a great crash landing pad as I would dive to catch the ball and land on your soft cushions.
My eyes have lit up many times when I've reached down your small cracks to reveal a shiny gold coin.
Whenever I would drop a ball, it would roll right under you and stop, smack bang in the middle, where it was out of arm's reach from every angle.
You would have to put up with the screaming frustrated me when we were losing a rugby test match.
You have watched me grow old, and I have done the same, but to be honest I think I have aged better.
I will keep you company for many more years and will continue to love and cherish you like the promise I made the day I bought you, and I will hope that you will still do the same for me.
You are worth your weight in gold.
From your loving, proud owner, Jess.
• By Jess Taylor, Year 11, Otago Girls' High School