a special place

your bed is my special place. i visit it so often that i forget that it isn’t mine. what first bothered me about it was how your thick, old blankets are crumpled against the white wall and corners. i was disgusted by how on the windowsill, which sits atop your bed, you’ve stuck pieces of gum you were too lazy to throw inside the lime-green wastebasket we purchased. i was troubled by the tangle of black cords that laid at the foot of your bed, the ones you warned me about not pushing off with my foot. why couldn’t you fix your bed when you had company over, like a normal person?

i wouldn’t have guessed that i’d come to love this bed as my own, my bed that has its blankets placed neatly over it with no creases. i didn’t think that i’d watch television shows as often as we do on your bed, on top of that white mattress, with its white stitches unraveling beneath our butts. i remember the first time we planted kisses all over our bare bodies on that mattress, and how afterwards you murmured sweet candies in my ear. you’ve held me countless times on your bed, so often that being held anywhere else isn’t the same. tickle fights, playful brawls, bursts of passion, and complex conversations have erupted on your bed.

one of my favorite memories that occurred on your bed is the first time i made you laugh especially hard. your laugh, the laugh i’ve now heard countless of times on your bed, reminds me of ernie from sesame street. that breathless, gasping for air laugh, that contagious kehehehehehehehehe… i remember tickling you and muttering nonsensical poetry in your ear. your eyes were squeezed shut, your smile was big enough to touch the corners of them. your body shook so uncontrollably i wanted to make you laugh even harder so that i knew that i was the only one who could make your body tremble the way it did.

this all happened on your bed, on that old mattress with the older sheets tucked away at its edges. so many memories are stored in between the lumps inside the mattress, where we’ve stitched our new thread over that frayed white one, and where we’ve weaved our sorrows and dreams. your bed is a haven for the both of us, a place where we are immune to the uncertainties of tomorrow because we are engulfed in the passions of today.