"so, what happens when you see the bed and it is empty? I can't stand the feeling of turning around on the bed the whole night without touching her legs for once. It's sort of like something that wakes me up form me being awake. How did I get to this point where I can't find myself without her figure on my bed...damn how I wish she was with me right now so I can push her away from me. Yes, I am weird. I can't bear the empty bed, i can't bear her being away, yet somehow i feel like whenever I have the chance I push her away anyways. And then...I realize again how empty my bed is... how empty I have become...how shallow. And then a dream comes to me where she is happy but not by me, where she laughs and sings and she has forgotten about that person who once push her away...I guess that is how it should be. She deserves someone who every night would kiss her good night. Someone who whenever she gets home she knows she arrives to the right place...someone who does not push her away. Yes, I am weird. And now, I am sad knowing that there is a place somewhere where she is happy, where she got home and she is laughing, a place where I don't belong. My empty bed has been chained to me, it follows me, it is my curse. So, what happens when you see your bed empty? I ask myself again and the only thing that comes to my mind is...nothing...just like the bed my mind is empty. It always has, it had nothing by myself inside...only me.
Time passes...I better laugh at my bed, I better laugh loud to fill my bed with laughters, i better scream until it is full of what tortures me...stupid bed."
The job of a bed is not easy. I have seen some beds going to bars for hours to release all the stress that the their bosses put on their frames. I have seen homeless beds, some have committed suicide, some have gone crazy. What should we expect when every scream, every tear, every sweep, every laughter, everything has been absorbed by osmosis by the hard-working bed. All what a bed wanted in life was to grow up, get married, have a couple of cribs, and live happily. However, nothing has worked out as planned. But that bed still remembers her smile, her perfect back, her beautiful freckles, her perfume...ahh her perfume.
Time passes...I better laugh at my bed, I better laugh loud to fill my bed with laughters, i better scream until it is full of what tortures me...stupid bed."
The job of a bed is not easy. I have seen some beds going to bars for hours to release all the stress that the their bosses put on their frames. I have seen homeless beds, some have committed suicide, some have gone crazy. What should we expect when every scream, every tear, every sweep, every laughter, everything has been absorbed by osmosis by the hard-working bed. All what a bed wanted in life was to grow up, get married, have a couple of cribs, and live happily. However, nothing has worked out as planned. But that bed still remembers her smile, her perfect back, her beautiful freckles, her perfume...ahh her perfume.
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