this feeling

I have this feeling. It lives in my stomach, in my chest — a quiet ache, a hollow space that feels like hunger, but isn’t. It’s the kind of emptiness that presses down, like someone standing on your ribs, like air that forgot how to move. But a hug — a single, steady hug — could make it vanish. So I pull my blanket close, let it rest against my chest, pretend it’s someone’s arms and not just fabric. Because sometimes it’s easier to feel the weight of something than the absence of it.