That empty pillow

I remember well that moment, now a few years ago, when you asked me to become your girlfriend. I also remember in painful detail my refusal. Regardless of my motivations and no matter that I still feel that it was the right decision for both of us, it still hurts inside.

For some reason when I moved into my new place and had to buy a bed - together with all other furniture, I decided to get a queen-sized bed. A regular twin-sized bed would have sufficed, but something made me buy the larger bed, along with everything else to get two matching sides.

Now, I often find myself looking at this empty side of the bed, staring at the empty pillow and imagining a reality in which this setup didn't seem like some twisted way to torture myself. Then again, having only a twin-sized bed taking up a fraction of the bedroom might have just the same effect.

In the end I just have to admit that the problem appears to be inside of me. A desire to be loved, and to love back, but no way to express this or expectations of it ever becoming a reality. Above all an inability to love myself.

Maybe some day I'll learn to know myself and discover that I'm actually a really cool person to hang out with. Or maybe it'll turn into the worst date of my life. Worse than all those times I was taken on a date without being aware of it in my horrible nativity until the sudden attempt to kiss me.

I hope I'll be gentle.


Maya


P.S.: this short story I wrote last year, called 'In Between - A love story' might be of interest, too: https://www.scribd.com/doc/246517504/In-Between-A-Love-Story