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The Right Side of the Bed



How different it is when the right side of the bed is made

I lie on the left and look at neat pillows and a smooth comforter.


No lovely lumps to complain of. Nothing obscures the view of the television.

When the right side of the bed is made the television is no longer an entertainment, it is now a companion, tries to fill the void.

The room is quiet. No laughter, no teasing, no whispers in the dark.

My leg searches for its nook, but there is none to be found.

My arms are just as lost with nothing to hug. They stretch and feel cold, crisp sheets. They yearn.

The television fails its mission, so off it goes.

Darkness,
Silence,
Just the hum of the fan.
No murmurs,
No giggling,
No hugging,
No kissing.
I sniff remnants of what was once the smell of soap, and natural musk.
Just tossing,
Just turning,
Sighing and longing.

When the right side of the bed is made, my heart is gone.

And the only thing that keeps me going is knowing that tomorrow night…

…the right side of the bed will no longer be done.
-Yvette Negron-Torres
(Papi, my nights are restless without you. I love you. Muah.)

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