I have a thing with beds.

I like spending time in my bed at home.  It is a safe place for me.  A place where the world stops and I can just breathe.  Where I do some of my best thinking.  My best writing.  My best reading.  I feel protected.  Almost like I am on an island and the world continues on around me.

My bed is new.  Only mine.  I lugged each and every piece up four flights of stairs to my apartment.  And I put it together on my own.  Every time I get in that bed I am not only reminded of my new life, but I am proud.  Proud of what I have accomplished.

Today as I write this, I am in a bed.  But it is not mine.

It is more comfortable.  It is safe.  I could spend hours here.  I want to spend hours here.  Alone.  Or not.  There is just something about this bed.

I love the way the mattress feels forgiving.  It accepts the weight of my body.  Our bodies.

The weight of the duvet makes me feel protected.  A shield to the outside world.   When I am in it, I feel like I am in a cocoon, and when I emerge I will be stronger.

The smell of the sheets.  The smell of his pillow.

I leave the bed and I can’t wait to return.  Later in the day.  Later in 12 days.  Never enough time.


2 thoughts on “Cocooning

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