I think we all have the same one piece of furniture in our married lives. Bought early on before kids, one of the first together for an old house in our distant memories, with memories.
Moved to another house, new with new memories to make. The couch resurfaced out of necessity because of a pit created in the cushion by a dog no more. Our kids napped, slobbered, played creating permanent marks to verify.
A stint in the local antique shop, thinking we had outgrown, but coming back like a boomerang, because despite, it belongs to us. Now resting in our bedroom.
A photograph cannot begin to reveal, a meager attempt with acrylics in a few short hours cannot touch nor a few short paragraphs do it justice.