The Bed We Make

Words were feathers, light, without much weight

Without any intention, just existing

But now the city I live in has gotten smaller and I'm in the penthouse with the situation I never wanted, even though I hold the keys to some of the most exuberant and glorious of things.

But ownership and responsibility are a silver chain and though some say that it's what frees you, sometimes those people are wrong.

It's the bed you bought with good intentions but sure enough, appearances can be deceiving.

I learned an important lesson.

Sometimes, people buy forged paintings because they cannot bear to see the absence of something they love, and something that's fake is better than something that's gone.

My penthouse may have a beautiful view and glasses of champagne and the wardrobe of the newest 'It' girl, but it also comes with a bed that looks like it's made of clouds.

The thing is, are you willing to take the chance and lie in it?

Are you willing to lie down and risk the chance of sleepless nights for months, along with those caveats that nobody told you about ?

Words may have been feathers once, but now they're firecrackers. My throat was bare once but now I've got music tied around it and sometimes it's hard to see whether I'm wearing a crown or mascara-stained cheeks, although sometimes there isn't much of a difference.

A forgery may be fake, but the comfort it can bring isn't. But as time goes by, the forgeries grow worse and worse and all we can do is stare at that bed we have, the one that looked like all our dreams once, and think to ourselves: What have I done?