THE EMPTY SIDE OF MY BED

I grew up facing the empty side of my bed.

I got really good at being friends with that empty space between my sheets.

I used to pretend another version of me was there,

understanding everything I was dealing with.

I used to fill that space by jumping out of my own bed and into my mom’s.

She made me laugh, she hugged me and gave me warmth.

I felt safe every time the empty side of her bed was filled with me.

But then,

she left.

And there was no way to fill MY empty side of the bed,

There was no way she could hug me and make me feel safe,

she was now in a coffin with no empty spaces to be filled.

I was still very good at filling the empty space across my bed.

It was never empty,

a bunch of pillows had to job to mimic the presence of her,

It was never empty,

a lot of memories were always breathing down my neck.

And then,

then he came, and sometimes he filled my empty side,

and sometimes, i filled the empty side of his bed,

and he cuddled me, snuggled me, and i was never afraid.

I used woke up in the middle of the night,

terrified because of the nightmares,

and he would ensure me i was safe,

and held my hand until i fell asleep again,

but then,

he left.

And my nightmares were just mine to break,

and i had to learn how to hold my own hand,

but then again i was very good at confronting the empty side of my bed.

The side, the dark and empty side of my bed, whom sometimes is my best friend.

The empty, cold side, that almost every night I try to avoid,

the empty side between my sheets has been filled with tears and grief,

the empty side of my bed, will always be there to cuddle me.