Moving never comes cheap, and something is bound to break. Renovating a home increases the chance of something being damaged. I expected casualties, I just didn't think it would be my favorite piece of furniture.
Needlessly dramatic? Maybe so, but I like things. Not the same way I like people. But I like my stuff, I take care of my various items.
And most importantly, I really appreciate more or less anything that is well crafted.
You were the best chair/stool/table/shelf a person could have. Versatile, not ugly, ridiculously cheap, and sturdy as fuck (up until a point).
You were with me in every apartment over a ten year period. You held me up when I reached for the stars, you comforted me when I was at rock bottom. You gave me support through literally thick and thin.
You started out pretty, but had various stains from daily use, but you still had potential. Just days before you met your end, I was even talking about giving you a face lift through a paint job, I even considered covering you in comics.
You will be missed.