A familiar bed

This Christmas Eve I’m over at my parents’ place. Come to think of it, really, where else would I be spending it, right? Like I mentioned in a previous Twitter update:

It’s enough to be with my family. It’s not about stuff: if want something, I can buy it. Can’t buy togetherness.

It’s nice being back here. I’m here in my old room, lying on the old bed, thinking about how it’s both strange and comforting to be back in this place. The deep red curtains and the deep red bed spread trigger memories. For sure, the familiarity of it all kind of puts me at ease. And yet, I feel like I’ve grown out of it. I know it shouldn’t be this way, but deep down I sort of feel like I’m a stranger: this isn’t entirely my sanctuary anymore.

Well, whatever the reason, I know that I will always have a place here if I need it. I don’t anticipate needing it, but this room is a sort of a safety net. All of that puts me at ease.

Possibly related posts:

1. Familiar sights and sounds at the EX
2. Familiar comforts
3. Couch is not a bed