I can’t remember whether it is the blue of the sheets, or the white the right way up. And if so then, how would the pillowcases match? When you arrived it was different. There is a space here, albeit chiefly vacant, a feeling, that I think would be nonexistent given any other circumstances. Unique. When you arrived it was exciting. New. Like the first time. Exciting, but also anxious like playing a card game with a new person and having a handful of all the right cards and winning and really impressing them but then being so worried from then that you could never win again based on skill, just on fluky hands and now they’re going to be disappointed in you when you lose againagainagainagainagainagainagainagain.
At the same time though there’s this comfort like an old, contented dog who sleeps liberally in the middle of the lounge while women in stilettos centimetres from it’s nose eat squares of cheese and olives and scratch their teeth with toothpicks while their husbands take off their jackets and roll up their sleeves and loosen their ties and there is laughter but there is also silence and everybody forgets what was just said not that it even matters but all the while the dog, in the thick of it all is sound asleep and democratically farting.
Now you've gone and I've stripped the bed and the space that was so deftly filled, is vacant again. The duvet is confused in a pile on the ground and the pillows are pining for their cases. It’s that space though I think which is dually the best and hardest part of ‘it all’. Surely not many others have occupied this realm (save like, Jeffrey Brown or something), nor are able to comprehend it. I like that we are far away and yet so close. I like that sometimes it’s the opposite. I’m going to put new sheets on my bed and sleep in it.