There was no avoiding it. I had to do it sooner or later.
Besides, it was a full day and I was tired.
I had slept alone plenty in my life, but I had never slept alone in my own place.
I had never had my own place period.
Laying down in what was to be my bedroom going forward felt like some sort of metaphorical final nail in the coffin housing my former self. My former life, now a strange montage of memory left waiting to become fond.
I was scared.
I missed my dog.
This was it. Here I was. Unfamiliar walls that would become common, just as my new life would become merely my life.
I crawled into bed and tried not to hear the strange creaks and ominous noises emanate from the darkened bungalow just outside my open door. These were all new phantom noises I could not yet explain. I knew every shift, settle, creak, pop and moan that came from the home I left. Time gave me that.
A bright beam of light from an alley street lamp cut through my back window, hitting my face. I could see the light, even with my eyes closed.
I rolled over and wondered if she was sleeping in the middle of the bed yet. I wasn’t. I didn’t know how.
The light was still attacking me, even with my back turned.
I wondered what side of the bed she slept on, or if it would ever even matter.
It didn’t matter where or how anybody else slept. This was my room, my bed, my home. I had to learn how to sleep for myself.
“Mental note,” I thought, “Buy some curtains.”