Being allowed in the bedroom. Being allowed on the bed. When I first got 'here', even on the holidays before I moved, if I was on or around that bed, nothing else mattered. The relationship never exactly flowed that way, but still, curled up like a cat at the base of the bed, while she read the paper or typed on the computer, always always emotionally refreshed me.
Today, it was sitting next to her as she ordered pizza for dinner, but still, it was the bedroom, it was the bed. Seeing my photo and my artwork still on her dresser. Everything was still as broken as it was before I wandered in, but I was centred in a way I rarely feel.
No comments:
Post a Comment