The familiarity of softness, and the absence of all else. Warm and significant. Quiet, tidy and restless. Fashioning new beginnings out of sticks and twine, discarded pieces of melted wax, and love letters stored away that will never be forgotten. Dreams of odd doorways nearly impossible to squeeze through, at the ends of steep, narrow flights of stairs, with crooked concrete that leads to no place I was ever trying to go. Disturbed to awaken, then soothed back to sleep thinking of your open shirt buttons and my fingers brushing across your bare chest, how much you appreciate my touch. J'aimerais que vous soyez ici.
