When I was about 7, I remember seeing my Cousin's drawing of an empty bed, with black frames and grills. I was tearing through her art pad, and I remember staring at that particular picture for the longest time. I didn't even need to ask her to explain what it meant to me. It was that obvious.

It was a feeling I wasn't very aware of, but for some reason I understood. Then, I thought it meant sadness. Now I think its emptiness.

Beds are supposed to associate words and feelings like comfort, and contentment. Sanctuary.

I've been feeling down today, and I think I could blame it on my hormonal imbalance (you have been warned), but for some reason, after stumbling on this photo I took months ago of my bed, I realized it said everything I couldn't. Or at least that's how I feel when I see it.

I don't even know if I'm making sense.
But boy, looking at the bright side...its almost Christmas.
Cue to exhale.