Be bed is my home.
Don't they always say that home is where the heart is? Okay, so my bed may not house my friends and my family, or my school and social life. But this is the place where my heart rests. Calming the pounding beat after a wonderful time, and nursing the wounds of a time not quite as kind. This 6-foot mattress is the shelter where my heart can expand, releasing what society expects to be hidden.
Some people may think that this is an ugly home. Believe me, these four corners have contained more heartbreak than even Shakespeare dared to write about, and more pain than a heartfelt hug could gather in its arms. But home isn't where you should be judged.
Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, I stretch my fingers and I stretch my toes and I spread out as far as I can over the bed sheets just to get the reassurance that I fit somewhere. At least in my world I do.
This is the world that has cultivated dreams, nurturing them every night, and then has the decency to put them to rest after they have been battered and bruised. A place not only for beginnings, but for endings too.
My bed has seen the best of me and the worst of me. In fact, it has seen all of me and still stays faithfully in the corner of my room.
Home is where you can laugh hysterically until you cry, **** your pillow, let the blood drip freely from your pain, and then cry yourself to sleep.
No one likes to admit it, but this is the heart. All of the ugliness and the pain and the ecstasy and the love, sometimes all at once.
To experience the world and embrace life at its seams, we need to wear our hearts safely pinned to our sleeves. And when that safety pin gives out under the weight of fear and disillusionment, my pillow will always be there to cushion the fall.
Even if you aren't.