Kicked to the curb
I fell in love… and I fell hard.
Like any new love, I wanted to spend as much time as we could together. Snuggled up in the love seat ~ seemed appropriate. Playfully wrestling on the floor, taking longs walks together at the end of a stressful day.
I would feed this new love of mine by hand, giggling when my fingers got nibbled on too. I could forgive if the bites were a little too rough.
Nighttime was sweet. Warm bodies wrapped together. A nuzzled ear, a nose to nose kiss, or a playful lick on my cheek. Even the snoring was cute.
That was then…
Now, I can’t move in my own bed. Splayed legs, hogged space and blankets. Snores have taken on a timbre that shakes the windows. Feet, with unclipped nails, twitching and churning, push hard against my back, waking me in the middle of the night, disturbing my already fragile sleep.
If I do get up, to perhaps pour a glass of cold water, or untwist my cramped legs, I turn to find my love has taken over my pillows, gazing up at me with sad eyes, begging me to not complain, to not reclaim my spot. The one that conforms to my shape, the one that was warmed by my body, to surrender my comfort to another.
I have banned my love from my bed. I am reclaiming my sleep, my space, my sanity.
Only if she didn’t sit outside my door crying all night.