There is a space next to me when I sleep.

It was once where my mom laid and read me stories.

Then it was for my friends during sleepovers.

It finally turned into a spot for my dog.

She is too old to jump on my bed without help now.

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It was empty for a little while.

Then, I started to fill it.

I open my eyes to yarn and books laying around.

I push the homework off my bed as I try to get comfortable.

The discarded blankets cover the empty room.

When I clean my mess, it is empty.

Covered quickly with a new hobby.

Maybe I cover it because the emptiness is lonely;

maybe one day, another person will enter that spot.

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I have a space next to me when I sleep.

It is reserved for my next step in life.