A Man on my bed

The white bedsheet lies crumbled on the bed. The quilt placed unfolded on the corner.
The air-conditioner set at 22 degrees. The window pains are steamy and the fog outside blurs the vision​ outside. The ships sailing in the water look like locusts. 

​Black bodily hair lie scattered on the white bedsheet. The rectangular bed is placed in the middle of the room. 

And I m sitting on the floor. In the extreme corner of the room. Staring. Glancing. Wondering at the sight.  

I see a giant body lying upturned on my bed. A hairy brown big body....A body of a man.

A man with frizzy hair and unshaved cheeks. Drooling. Snoring. His curly eye lashes placed softly on the roughly folded pillow. His lower body wrapped in a thick cotton robe. His bare back fighting with the light falling from the windows. The cold air tip-toeing on his broad shoulders. The bed spread barely covering his folded leg.

A man is sleeping on my bed. And I am on this corner. Escaping the thoughts flocking around. 

How two worlds are created in an instance. One, when we create it instantly, without being a part of it.... and second, when we uproot it and still choose to be a part of it forever.