To My Stubborn Longing For Bernie Sanders To Be President Of The United States (first letter)

I want a chair that tells me the truth.  It should slide and pivot and fit through all doors.  The chair will never ask me to take a seat.  The chair must have permanence and collapsible legs.  The chair will be immovable.  It should sit up straight and recline when necessary.  The chair will be hovering just above an alleyway that I discover while walking aimlessly with my thoughts, as if it has been waiting for me there after an arduous escape from another, more fantastical reality.  It will soothe me to sleep and wake me to everyone being delighted with who they are and where they’re at.  People doing terrible things will notice me enjoying the chair and change their ways.  The chair should yield coins from its upholstery whenever necessary.
It will be hand-crafted with unconditional love by my former and future selves.  The chair will be unobtrusive while transforming the environments it inhabits.  It should be firm, soft, well-worn and pristine.  The chair has to have a pleasant smell without me noticing it.  The chair will return me to an embryonic state as I read.  It must be mid-century and ancient, naive and informed, bold and understated, designed and accidental, fashionable, pragmatic, alert and unconcerned.  The chair will have lever-triggerred features that I discover for the rest of my life.  The chair will release me.  The chair will hold me.  It will know what to do and why.