In My Best Friends' Beds

I asked him first if I could sleep in his bed. I didn't want to be weirder...well, weirder than normal. He laughed and told me to go for it. After he went to work, I (still in my foggy tequila haze) dragged my sleeping bag and pillow and crawled into his bed.
 
The light rudely burst through his bedroom window challenging my ability to sleep in. I, luckily, persevered. I fell back alseep until ten in his comfy bed and before I forced myself up and into a world of overwhelming thoughts and decisions that weighed on my heart-I laid there a couple minutes longer. I traced the wrinkles in his sheets,  allowing myself to get caught up in wondering about his every day routine-musing if he had a set day to wash his sheets, if he always skipped breakfast, and what days he liked to grocery shop. I felt the purr of his cat calmly vibrate my thigh, until of course I tried to pet said cat and he violently hissed at me, such a dick-just like his owner. It was nice to get lost in someone else's world for a moment. I stretched and leisurely looked around his room, his sanctuary, at his books, at a closet that I desperately wanted to organize and all the pieces of his life-some he shared with others...others he kept for only himself, and felt at peace.
 
All these random things that made up part of his life, made up part of him, if separate meant nothing, but combined created some sanity and balance for him.
 
I was going to be okay. Even if I didn't know how or when, I at least knew I was going to be okay, and that was a fabulous realization when before that second, all I could find was dark days and an empty existence.
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Her room did not need organizing. It was full of light and depth and had the energy of a woman on the go. She offered me her house when I told her I needed time to myself, time to think, time to breathe-by firmly pressing the spare key into my hand and telling me she should have given me that key a long time ago. My key.
 
My key to happiness?  No, not exactly.
 
But my key to get away from everything, including the stale thought process of me already knowing who I am and who I am not. To be convinced with such certainty in the midst of finding oneself is stupid. Humorous, yet stupid. I am in the middle of a self-evolution, a self-revolution if you will, so the only thing that should be set in stone is that I'm finding out who I am. That should be my only conviction.
 
I crawled into her bed the first night and the sweet smell of her freshly washed sheets enveloped my senses. The dogs jumped in and nudged me until I lifted the covers so they could burrow in the blankies and cuddle me. Her room was exactly the kind of room I envisioned growing up, wooden worn floors, peaceful energy, comfortable bed, and if I'm being honest-full of love.
 
She has one of those glowing souls that you are lucky if you hear about in this world, let alone get to love, and I swear she left a bit of her heart behind for me to let me know-my heart would be fine.
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They gave me their beds. Their beds. The very place where they rest, where they love, where they rejuvenate their souls, where they mend when they are sick, where they cuddle, where they writhe and sweat, where they end their nights and start their days.
Make no mistake-they did not just offer me a place to sleep-they offered me refuge for my soul.
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I'll return to my bed in a couple weeks and I wonder if I'll feel the love that I felt in these two beds. I wonder if I will feel the love left for me, if I will feel the acceptance for myself at this point in my journey, if I will feel content with who I am-ugly, emotional breakdowns and all.
I wonder if I will show myself kindness as I would anyone else? I wonder if I will remember kindess...and understanding? I wonder if I will love myself and build up my spirit like I would for anyone else?
 
I hope so.
 
I have been shown, by people that love me for reasons I do not know, how to love and accept myself in my darkest times.  
 
In the meantime, before I return to my bed, I have some work to do. I have to work on not merely accepting love, but raising the standard of love which I accept for myself, from others...and from me too. Until then, I am sleeping in beds that have been made for me with love, adoration and a little firm ass-kicking by people I am simply blessed to know.

Comments

  1. I believe that when you return to your bed you WILL feel the love that you felt in those other two beds. Love is not stuck in one place, it's mobile.

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    Replies
    1. Thank goodness for the fluidity of love. ❤

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