By Christina Bivona, Inside columnist

If there is one relationship I can always rely on – besides the ones with my family and friends – it’s the one I have with my bed. My bed is always there for me, every day of the week, every hour of the day, whenever I need it.

My bed loves waking up to me every morning, even if my hair is a mess and I accidentally forgot to take off my makeup… which is now smeared across its white pillow cases. It’s quick to forgive me. It tells me I look beautiful, even if I didn’t get a sufficient amount of beauty sleep.

My bed waits up for me on long nights out, whether they’re spent at the library studying or out at the bar drinking a little more pumpkin beer than my mother would like. It catches me as exhaustion rolls over at the end of the day with open arms and surrounds me in the warmth of its covers.

My bed loves to hear me laugh, especially when I’m sharing a good joke with friends, watching a movie, or looking at pictures of baby animals. Although my bed can sometimes be selfish, it doesn’t mind being shared from time to time with a friend who lives far away or someone who likes to cuddle. It appreciates the occasional extra set of arms to keep me warm at night.

My bed tries to give me the space I need. It doesn’t mind if I forget about it once in awhile, as long as I come back to it at night. It understands I have a lot of important things to do during the day.

My bed is always there to support me. It insists that it will catch me every time I fall for it. It takes care of me whenever I get sick, and even lets me have a good cry once in awhile when I need it.

Sometimes my bed can be brutally honest with me – like the nights I sit and stare at the ceiling with a million thoughts racing through my mind. The red light on my alarm clock flashes 2:30a.m. as I try to determine if I should have taken that class, or job, or realize that maybe I do miss that certain someone. We sit there in silence with my thoughts.

Like most relationships, we’ve hit some speed bumps along the way. Sometimes we fight, like when it’s late in the evening and I still haven’t wandered back. It calls, worried that I won’t get enough rest. Or when my alarm goes off for an early class, it pulls me back for just a few minutes more, then bashfully apologizes for stealing numerous pairs of my socks under its covers.

Sometimes I take it for granted, the sense of security that I find in the confines of my bed – thinking that everyone has this luxury or that I always will. I didn’t realize how lucky I was until I was away from it – sleeping in a tent for a month in the wilderness, a dusty floor mat in the desert of Jordan, or facedown on a cold hard table on the fourth floor of the library.

At the end of the day, I know my bed will be there for me through the good times and the bad – my temporary escape from reality or the resource I need to get back to it. The best thing I can do in return is to give back the love I receive, spend more quality time together, and maybe leave a few less pita chip crumbs under the covers.

-Christina Bivona can be reached at [email protected].