subject line: more about the beds we find ourselves in

 

Powell, Ohio

There has been a lot of emails recently about ending up with a boy in your bed. I have my own bed I crawl into when I want to feel a little less alone. We end up tangled between sheets and laced in each others arms all while trying not to bump into one another’s feelings. Truthfully, our feelings have been bumping for a long time. I just refuse to acknowledge it because doing so means I am the one who ends up getting hurt.

We meet my freshman year of college and have used each for everything except commitment. Junior year is here and he is taking other girls on dates and I am trying my damn hardest to not say anything about how I wish he would ask me. I crawl into his bed instead. He, like “herbal tea in bed,” is never going to choose me, at least for not for more than a booty call and advice about his latest “crisis”. I am never enough for him and that is a hard truth to swallow when I preach self-love in every other area of my life. And every time I have this realization again, I leave his bed swearing to never come back to it. Then the weekend comes.

I know a relationship with him won’t work. I know. I know. I know. Honestly, I don’t even want one but what I want, and what I know i seek from him, is someone that will stop looking for other people because he sees me.

Beds are a tricky place. We all, at some point or another, have ended up on the right side of the wrong bed. I end up in his more than I care to admit and more than I know is good for me. And I’ll keep showing up until I learn to see myself and stop looking to others to hold me through the night. But I’m learning, I’m learning a boy will never make me feel whole in the same way his bed will never feel like home.