(no subject)
How can I even think about something as trivial as sleep when I reach over to the other side of the bed and it's like brushing my hand over the Atlantic in November. I washed the bedclothes to rid them of your scent, but somehow the icy touch of them makes me nostalgic for being 13 and not knowing what an empty bed feels like. I was glad to sleep diagonally across the bed, arms and legs flung here and there. Now I can't bring myself to cross the boundary of the invisible mid-bed force field. I toss and turn half of the night, wanting to stretch out but afraid my leg might drape over the invisible you, and then you'll accuse me of being a bed hog. Maybe I need a new bed.
-Shan