Nights you call out, I padthe hallway to your duvet flung wide, your leg dangling down, tender and crooked, still warm, your small palm cooling on the wall.
Your soft toys shift and slide as I cover you. My mind slides towards small absent ones I cared for in passing. Long ago, I dusted the room of a girl who, too, turned from the wall in sleep.
Edging between the wall and the soft anchorage of your bed, I turn the bedspread back; lay hands along its length and see how awkwardly it rucks, how hard it is to settle it enough.
Retirado daqui.
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