Full House at 2, Empty Bed at 3.

I'm single. I'm 23. I'm (barely) financially stable. I'm learning to love myself before I love men.

But last night, loneliness felt like it was piercing my chest. It got to me. The emptiness of my bed felt unbearable, though my heated blanket was trying its darndest to replicate the warmth of a man. I laid there wishing my pillow was made of ribs and chest hair. Thick, dark hair that I could run my fingers through. Or maybe no hair. Maybe just a chest, bare and warm. A chest for me to call my resting place. My solace. My home base. Or at least a place I can rent while I'm traveling through life. His chest could be like the pillow at a hostel that I know will be given to another person soon but I still do my best to sleep while I have it.

I think of all the times I took having someone else's body heat in my bed for granted. How could I be angry about being sweaty? How could I be frustrated that he was breathing on my neck? How could I turn away because I claim to sleep better that way? Last night I would have taken the sweat and breath of any man who would have me. Or at least that's what my chest was telling me I would do. In my day to day life, talking to a man with the intention of finding him soon after in my bed feels daunting.

After a weekend of parties and drinking, my lonely heart couldn't bare a full house at 2am and an empty bed at 3. In college, a party meant a warm bed. You could pretty much close your eyes, spin around and point to your next bedmate. Now, it's not that easy. I don't want to sleep with just anyone. I don't want to sleep with the cute comedy boys I had over on Friday. I can't. I've already taken too many in my bed. They've already kept me warm and I kicked them out into the cold. I can't do it again. I can't look into a man's eyes while I'm lying to him anymore. I can't look into a man's eyes and know I'm lying to myself anymore. I just can't.

But my chest still yearns. My brain flashes back to the sheets I had before. All the men whose faces I have seen horizontal. All of the eyes that flickered as they dreamed. All the faces I could just reach out and touch. All the lips I could lean over and kiss. I miss those men on nights like last night. Those men weren't my man but I miss them all the same.

So I wait. I don't believe in soulmates. I'm not waiting for that. I'm waiting for an undeniable connection. That takes time. So I lay down and try to breathe like I learned in yoga. I turn on my meditation/sleep app and I drift away with my chest still reaching towards the void. Reaching towards a man I do not know yet. Someone who I will be able to love. Someone who I will know horizontally again. Someone who is with someone else right now, or whose chest is as pierced by loneliness as my own. And HECK! Maybe someone who doesn't tell jokes for a goddamn living.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.