Pillow

The life of a pillow is not an easy one. Every day is a different one, each with horrors of their own. Some days I sit helplessly on the bed, watching the contents of the room, still. Sometimes I do not face the clock, so minutes feel like hours and I drive myself crazy with thoughts of anxiety. And so I sit, half of the time, facing the room miserably, yet enjoying the daylight I have left until he walks into the room, yawning, and presses his atrocious face against mine for the night. Believe it or not, the other days are worse. He judges me. Whenever I'm not "cool" enough for him, he flips me over like an object and leaves me to suffocate against the blackness. The worst is when he leaves me like this. On those days, not only do I drive myself crazy with the stillness of the room, I am left to only imagine what the rooms looks like, left alone with my own thoughts, and having only the possibility of a face-up night when the he sleeps elsewhere to look forward to.