As human beings, we can all agree on one universal truth: we eventually go to sleep. Whether it’s night, day or some time in between, everyone eventually folds. And because we’ve evolved to enjoy simplicity and comfort, we’ve created this miraculous rectangle of redemption we call BED. 

 

A bed isn’t just furniture, it’s a horizontal cushion indented with the weight of our dreams and despair. A place of shelter, comfort, and occasional late-night therapy. It’s also a graveyard of crumbs, tears, and after-hours confessions. 

 

The truth is we love our beds so much, we talk about them like infatuated lovers forbidden to coexist in peace. 

 

The bed is exciting. Comforting. A little seductive. No matter the time of day, or mental state—we’re always craving some bed action. Sometimes, it’s borderline psychotic—the way we speak of our bed like it’s a sacred place, a holy refuge that will save us from worldly sins and external danger. 

 

Here are some common ways we refer to our beds: 

“I love my bed so much I don’t wanna get up”

“My bed is so cozy—I wanna lay in it forever”

“My bed is so comfortable”

“I’m getting ready for bed”

 

The last reference implies a delicate process—a sacred ritual. A preparation of the mind, soul and body. As if we must cleanse ourselves of transgression in order to impress the bed. Otherwise, we risk being denied eternal comfort. 

 

And, truthfully, the bed is the one place that has seen the best and the worst of us. On a good night, we intentionally meditate on a processional leading to the main event. We mindfully wash up, brush our teeth, change into clean pajamas and slowly and comfortably slide in—looking good, smelling fresh and feeling enamored. 

 

On a bad night, the delicate routine dissolves into chaos. We stumble in half naked, half covered in shame, and fully unworthy. Drunk. Delirious. Possibly fighting with the fitted sheets and punching the pillow for better accommodations. The bed remains unfazed.  

 

Subconsciously, we do things to impress our beds. We cancel plans just to stay wrapped in its comfort. We show vulnerability like nowhere else—we cry our eyes out in bed, sometimes in silence, just shaking and dry heaving like a Telenovela character mid-meltdown, too devastated to speak. We experience our temporary death there every night. We dream, we nap, we relax. We watch TV, we work, we read books. The beds welcome all versions of us in alarming hospitality. 
 

And it remains the only constant. It always stands by our side—or more accurately underneath us—for full support. 

 

So of course we love our beds. Of course we’re going to be all googly eyes for beds. We talk about them with lusty desire usually reserved for soulmates and emotionally unavailable crushes. 

 

May your bed hold you like the emotionally stable partner you deserve. May it support you at your lowest moments—and celebrate you at your freshest, cleanest, calmest nights.