Describe a Table

That desk was first a cabinet. Then it became my writing desk, since it was already getting in the way of my parents' room, and I desperately needed a decent desk where I could sit down and draw. I think the cabinet finally became a table sometime before my fourth birthday, and that's when the idea that my desk was actually a cabinet transformed into something else really appealed to me. Today it has already changed - I find the drawers small and impractical, the writing surface is made of soft wood, in which grooves are made even after pushing harder with a pencil, and overall it is starting to feel small. But at the same time, there is something nostalgic about it.

It was a small, dark-wooden table - no paint over the natural lines of this specific wood, but it was smooth and clean like a brand-new window. In the topmost right corner, a hole. What was this hole doing there? It was ready. Ready for what? For a cup filled with pencils, for a bottle of ink to hold. But no one ever used it. So, as revenge, the hole claimed every small object on the desk, and let it fall to the ground bellow.
It was a child's table. Low, small, little in every aspect; but the most remarkable thing about this desk was that it was not horizontal.
This was an intentional fantasy of the maker: a diagonal desk, on which every item slid to the bottom, only to be kept from falling by a small, just as wooden ledge. The desk had four little wooden legs, the two backmost longer than the two frontmost.
A little desk soaked in memories of all the little hands that had worked over it.