Stranger’s Beds

It’s 3am on Sunday morning.

Architecture & Design ( Pinterest )

Am on phone.  Dimmed light and disabled anything that could produce a sound.  Am supposed to be asleep but my mind has other ideas.  I am reading random posts on They are very deep pieces.  Those about rags to riches defeat to triumph or befitting nostalgic flashbacks are my favorite. Am moved and once in a while, I sigh and a tear here and there. All along, I am so engrossed in that world that I cannot feel my limbs. .  I stir a bit to get into a more comfortable snuggle position albeit subconsciously. It feels so good. He purrs and continues to peacefully enjoy the deep sleep.  The even light breaths hit the top of my head and can’t help but smile.  I finish the article then turn to Twitter. It is like a ritual. See, there is nothing validating about this life. The money is good , mostly. However every time when the other one is happy and contented, my thoughts run deep to my sibling’s fee arrears that I have only managed half. That is not really the hard part. It’s the dreams I let down the drain that haunt me. That executive office that I always wanted. The perfect family that I envisioned and above all , the dignity that I worked so hard to maintain until unlike what a woman should be, I broke. I was too stiff to bend.   Back to twitter, there is nothing much. It’s a Saturday night or Sunday morning depending on what you want.  I can clearly tell that it’s a beautiful sky from the shears and suddenly I have this overwhelming feeling to go and watch the sky. When growing up, we were always told that the sky is the limit. Sometimes I think this is relative to my happiness. The only time I am genuinely happy is when watching the clear sky, the moon or the stars. It is not what I wanted.

I manage to escape the snuggle and tiptoe to the bedroom balcony.  And suddenly I have this deja vu.

See, this is a stranger’s bed.  I love stranger’s beds.  They have no ties.  You don’t get into the sheets and suddenly you remember that smell.  No. You get into a stranger’s bed and all it gives you is the warm and comfort.  If you are lucky enough to get silk sheets, you will feel the heavenly caress on your skin and in that moment, you will live that moment fully.

Back to the balcony, I stare at the beautiful crescent moon.  It’s so beautiful.  I get lost in it.  The almost empty bottle of wine is still on the table and the throws that served as seats earlier on carelessly thrown on the rails.  I bring the bottle to my lips and for the first time that night, I feel something.  The wine slightly burns and kind of churns my stomach.  I sigh heavily and outcome hot tears.  I can’t stop.  I know not if it’s relief or pain but I gulp more to empty the bottle.  I hardly notice that I have been out for more than an hour until I feel a tug.  My feet are too heavy to move.  Just like the previous one and the next one, I cling onto the only hope I can cling unto.  I feel safe.  I feel needy.  I know the script too well.

6:30am on Sunday morning.  I am starving and lucky enough lady luck brought a bonus culinary skills.  I try to inhale the sheets deeper; I desperately need something to remember this one for.  Nothing.  I dab my clothes in the new cologne, nothing.

I take photos but delete all because they all seem so wrong

At noon, am back to my bed.  It’s all very familiar.  The signature smell of the house, the bed sheets, even the washroom.  And just like that, I probably will be venturing to another new bed, my office .

A little human part of me dies again.  And another  empty one is created. Ready to bid the next goodbye without a trace of the smell.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s