The figs we ate afterward were warm, soft, wrapped in prosciutto. Perfection, on arugula, and I would have offered my bite to you.

I woke this morning to a clear day, warm, gentle. I woke, rolled out of bed and wandered into Sunday, into the breeze and thinking about the figs, and what I would tell you about them. That they were warm, soft, sweet, like a Saturday.

That they made me miss you.

Songs I love make me long for you, but they are not our songs.

I miss you here, wish you were woven into the fabric, and not only wrapped in it.

I wish I knew the saltwater that hits your face when you dream, the sun that freckles your skin.

I wish you could take my secrets and keep them a little closer, a little longer, and not in a box, hidden away.

I wish that the scent of my hair were in your pillowcase, too, so that each morning, when you awoke, you reached for me.

4 thoughts on “fabric

  1. Cheeky Minx says:

    While I know this fabric well, your words transform it into a garment of beauty…

  2. max says:

    i wish all that too.

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