This short tale is based on the Amy Winehouse song, In my Bed.
In my bed….
Alone. No one to cuddle, no one to hold, no one to talk to. That’s me, in my bed.
The blandness of the walls permeate the room, reflecting the greyness of the weather outside. It’s 8 am, and I’ve had another sleep disrupted night, in my bed.
Here I am, in my bed, staring at the walls, at the ceiling. I have somewhere to go, but on this cold morning, another five minutes under the duvet seems more inviting.
Another sleep disrupted night, alone, in my bed. Sleepless, thinking about all the things I’ve done wrong, and not much about the things that I’ve done right.
Alone in my bed. But now, I’ve moved to the kitchen, ready for that first cup of tea of the day. Though I don’t feel like going out, I drag myself away from the lonely existence of my flat, to the lonely existence of the bus, or the train.
No one to hold, no one to love, no one to talk to. Just me, on my own, over thinking, over anxious, over analysing and over here. I’ll do it all again, tomorrow, each and every day.