My bed is a sofa bed, and I always have it folded up into a couch until right before I go to sleep. It's innocuous enough, but I hate having it all flattened out, because it's a double bed, and so literally every night, every single night, the last thing there is to see is the space where someone else should be. The emptiness that should be someone who loves you instead.
At the time I should be most at rest, I'm at my worst. Literally face to face with the flood of thoughts that comes rushing to form the shape of a face, of a warm body. I should be resting, but I'm fighting for my life. In the dark. Silently. Alone. And the question I'm always left asking is: how did it come to this?

Also, I've started to grow more aware of people actually reading these, and thats fucking with me too. When they look and me, and they know, what are they thinking?