It was pretty and felt like the real thing, though I’m not the best at telling the difference. The next person could walk up and tell me it’s alligator leather, and I’ll probably believe them. As I’ve grown older into a space of my own, I’ve always had that soft, smooth leather couch in the back of my head. It was a comforting anchor, a touchstone for my mental state. I first found it in a tucked away corner at the local West Elm. I perused the open-concept store, eyes wide and dreams big. I could see it now, the leather couch sitting gracefully under the skylight, next to the large scale painting. Though it has fallen off its mount, that’s no concern. I still have the leather couch, my peace in a space that I made my own.
