A Bed Built for One
When I lie in bed is when I feel loneliest. There is no room for anyone else here; it is built just for me. I lie down in my bed for one and remember the scant few times that I have shared a bed with someone else. I have never slept better than those few times.
I miss how it feels to have a woman beside me. To hear her breathing softly as I hold her, her taste still lingering in my mouth.
Some part of me has always known I was not meant to be alone, but circumstance and fear have keep me there. I’m working on the fear, but the circumstance eludes me.
I can’t keep talking about this, but I also can’t stop thinking about it. It isn’t healthy to dwell on this but I don’t know how not to. I try to put it away, but when I try to create art, or write, or sleep, or have a passing idle moment, the thought creeps in unbidden, like a clumsy thief.
It has driven me to the edge before and it threatens to do it again.
No, actually, it won’t. I am stronger than this. The problem here is that sleep approaches and I have to crawl into my bed for one and there is no room here to hide from my fears of loneliness. I am capable of living in isolation, but that doesn’t mean I have any desire to.
I am just as lost now as I have ever been. Lord, give me guidance.