When you’re not here, the bed doesn’t do its job. I don’t know if it’s the heat, or the way the springs bend when you’re beside me. I don’t know if it’s the way you smell, or the way you feel. It may have something to do with knowing you’re simply an arm’s length away, and that you’ll be what I see when I wake.
I just know that without you, the bed doesn’t work.
Yours,
Anonymous
Anonymous Love Letters 