Crumpled Sheets

You showed me pictures of bedrooms in between breaks at work. Some had gentle rays of light breaking through the curtain fabric, others were enveloped in a blanket of darkness. All were vacant of human presence, just crumpled sheets tossed atop of the bed. I observed how those sheets must have bore the outline of the sleeper, or held his gentle snores and musky scent, stories unkemptly folded between sheets of lackluster whites. Thrown in a heap when one was late to work and didn't have the time to fold them neatly. Drawn loosely over a frightened child on a stormy morning. Cradling the hushed sighs and soft longing of lovers tangled in echoes of each others' warmth. 

In just a few photos of messy sheets, I conjure up snapshots of what it might have meant to you.