Despite the invitation of rest, we walk past. I don’t acknowledge the chair as a stopping point. I have no interest to take a break. I never have. Walking past this chair, as I have for countless years prior, I stop. Stopping, I recognize the life that grew over. Despite the vacancy. Life grows here. The chair is flourished, and yet no one has taken a seat. No one has taken a second to breathe. But perhaps this is why no one has stopped for it, perhaps there is too much life. Perhaps it overbears the feeing of being obsolete. How can we sit, surrounded by so much life, and hardly move at all? How can we trust ourselves to resist the urge of indulgence?