An Ode to My Bed

This bedroom of mine is small. Tiny, even. Full with just a bed and table. I like it that way, like a cozy little nest. This sacred space of mine is soft and gentle, all neutral shades, but for the red woven into a beloved blanket. In this quiet place, I rest my body, I calm my mind, I hide away here when the world is too loud, too big, too much.
The bed is mine alone. I sleep in the middle, legs stretched out, endless blankets and pillows bunched around me. I’m happy, still, to share, to make room for my lover, gentle beast that he is. The smell of his hair lingers on my pillows, greeting me in the warmth of the sun as I unfurl from my cocoon. Light beams through the window above my head most mornings. It beckons me, “Arise! Stretch those limbs! It’s time for coffee!” I emerge from beneath the covers, my soft, protective shield falling away. Bones creaking and eyes bleary. I leave the nest, knowing that it will still be here when I need it.


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