Whenever I think of people my mind immediately floods with images, and memories of them, and my mind is scrambled with the emotions they caused me. Some good, most bad.

  It's the same way with books, I love the exhiliration and freedom they seem to give me as I step into a new world.

 But nothing can compare with the fondness that creeps into my heart when I think of my bed. A feeling akin to that after drinking wine, warms my chest and settles heavily and comfortambly there.

    I am not lying when I say whenever I have to sleep in a strange bed that is not my own, I often dream of me trying to get to my bed. In these dreams I am either hindered by unwanted guests, or get sudden paralysis within ten feet of my bed, and I am forced to crawl towards my bed using only my fingers to drag me along.

 With that in mind, I think I can quite confidentally say that if my bed were a human, I would marry it.

 The love that I have for my bed challenges the love that I have for my family, and outweighs the love I have for my friends.

 Perhaps it's a selfish love, because I love the sweet sleep it grants me. How it wraps me in its warm embrace of blankets, pillows, and lulling dreams.

   After reading this, you probably think I'm insane. And I agree, I am insanely in love with my bed. Though sometimes I think it's better this way. For it to remain motionless and non-human. I can draw pleasure from the fact I spend everynight with my bed. A relationship with no strings attached.

  Well, with that said, I love you bed.

I love the sleep and rest you grant me, and am grateful.

 I love the dreams I dream inside your arms, and they way your pillow aborbs my tears, when no one else will.

  How your always willing to take my aching body, mind, and heart in, and how you soothe my feverish brow when I am sick.

  I love you, and for all that is good, please do not become a human, because that would ruin our relationship.

 Good night!