Morning, you.
Standing in the closet surrounded by pressed blouses and modest dresses, I haven’t put anything on yet.
It’s almost funny how proper I look once I choose to be.
The whole house feels heavy with quiet.
I’m under the covers in just my panties, staring at the ceiling and wishing someone was here to touch me like I matter.
Good night. If you were beside me, I’d turn toward you, kiss you slow, and hold you there until sleep finally took us.