Refugees seek salvation and shelter within mountains of strong rock and stone, shielding themselves from the harsh elements that drive them to hide. I however, seek sanctuary beneath a different type of crag. A mountainous region that rolls with goose feathers and bends to my very will, covering me from all outside forces. The easily manipulated, green stained duvet has comforted me for many years (see what I did there?) through times where it was no more than an oversized tissue, stained with mucus amongst the painted flowers and reeds; other times decorated with tears of dramatic emotional toil to add to the flow of the woven river. Headrests of length have always been stacked for my liking, changeable with the covers though the white beneath has always remained diligent, only visible when I forget to put my sheets and covers in the dryer. My bed is a salvation that beckons to me only in times of inconvenience, and cocoons me in it’s venomous embrace only in the morning; other than that, it is cast aside, taunting me from against the wall, mocking it’s neglected state, knowing that time and time again, I will always come crawling back. And when I do; it is there and ready for me with an open mattress, softening the blows as an exhausted body drops heavily against it. My bed is my favourite place, for it is a stronghold against all elements.
Yes, Olivia, I see what you did there. Haha. ;Q)
ReplyDeleteI love the image of your bed, sitting in the corner all hoity-toity, knowing that you'll "always come crawling back". And, of course, the oversized tissue bit was...er...delicious. Your descriptions are so diverse and numerous that I forgot, multiple times, that you were talking about a bed!
Yep. This makes me smile. (and want to run upstairs and tuck myself into bed)