I am Officially in Mourning

 
Posted on May 1, 2017
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The Single Biggest Love Affair of My Life is Over.

For the last two years I have opened my bedroom door each night with breathless anticipation. My heartbeat quickening and beads of sweat forming on my brow. As I slip between the crisp cotton sheets and pull the heavy weight of the duck down feather duvet over me, the stress and aches of the day slip away. I know, that no matter what, for a minimum of 6 hours I will be in a state of helplessness, happiness and at moments pure ecstasy. Ladies, the love affair I talk of is that between me and my loyal companion…my bed. Today, I am officially in mourning.

Now I know that there may be a few among you that may quaff and giggle at that, but let me ask you something – has your bed ever let you down? Have you ever lay there and thought “it’s just not enough, I need more from you?”

No.

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Those who pull you away from this love are those who cause you pain. The evil that is the day job, or the children who won’t let you enjoy precious moments alone with your beloved, but the bed itself never lets you down. Ever. That is until you betray it.

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It was a love I took for granted. I forgot about the hard times it had helped me through, the sleepless nights when it still offered me comfort, the days and nights I was sick when it caressed me into a drugged up haze of dreamland. I took this love for granted and I looked elsewhere. And today I mourn a loss I simply can’t describe.

Two weeks ago I moved house and left my beloved bed behind. I’d been tempted by a newer model. It was shiny and pretty and new, but appearances were deceiving and the outcome was simply underwhelming.

It seems I have been lied to all my life, because as it turns out size does indeed matter. My replacement simply isn’t big enough. It seems strength also matters, as this one is too tough with not enough of a marshmallow center. This new one does not suit me and I miss my old faithful. I am no longer angry about the scratches on the face of the headboard, or the ageing of the wood, I no longer want the newer model with the tight springs and higher stance. I want my old faithful back.

Worn, weathered and experienced. The one that molded to my every curve and adapted to my fluctuating weight. I took my old love for granted.

Come back my dear old faithful. All is forgiven!

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