warm touch

As I sit quietly, I drift into my own world a quiet place of fantasy where you and I exist as one. I have never seen you in a dress, yet my mind paints a perfect picture: you in a soft white dress, the kind that moves gently with the wind, bright eyes, calm smile, a version of you that defines everything my heart calls perfect. In that small universe in my mind, I see you running toward me and for a moment it feels real. I feel that warm touch rest softly against my soul, calming every restless thought inside me. Then I smile in reality, knowing well this moment only lives in the quiet world of my imagination. Still, they say dreams can travel far sometimes farther than we ever expect. As I write these words, it almost feels like your hands are reaching through the page, that warm touch finding its way to me. I skip the pages of how tightly I would hold you, how long I would look at you, how grateful I would be to the people who brought you into this world. Because somehow you remind me that perfection is not about flawless shapes or perfect curves. It is something quieter than that something real. And I am happy just knowing you exist.