Strange how this bed, when empty, rises up onto one side, and becomes a wall. A cold, hard wall. A brick wall. This bedroom cools to an even lower temperature than usually. And the darkness loses its softness. Becomes bleak. Bitter. Hollow.
I have spent some of my loneliest moments in a sea of people. Being lonely can hurt even more when seperation is visited upon you repeatedly, and irregularily, on top of already prolonged deprivation of contact. And after years of that, sometimes your stamina can just fail. Without warning. Like falling hard on your face while walking down a flight of steps. It immediately hurts. But it also introduces fear into you. You become less certain of yourself. Your ability to safely sail down some stairs. Or go without contiguous presence of another human being for extended periods of time.
I don't want to go up there. I don't want to crawl into that bed. Alone. Again.