Skyspook, I love folding your clothes.
Most people would see these as pieces of fabric, but I see you in every one. They’re where you spend most of your days, armor protecting you from the world.
Sorting into piles, I ruminate on who you are, who you’ve been, who you’ll one day be – not to find answers but to enjoy the way the questions echo with no one to answer them.
It’s at times like these when I realize that the mere traces you leave behind in your absence affect me more than the full presence of others.