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Yesterday I found a cuddle that you had given me some nights before. It was hidden in a jumper that I had lazily tossed into the corner that night as I had climbed wearily into bed. Today it is not my body that is weary but my soul. And so this surprise find of your cuddle brings a quiet and gentle rest. I find too that there is some scent of you some sense of you on the breeze that brushes past me, and rummaging in a drawer I find that the feel of your head on my shoulder is still on the collar of a shirt. I turn to catch a glimpse of your laughter skipping round the sitting room, the light of your smile upon the chair by the door. And I pull, all soft and wobbly, a giggle from my pocket. And now if I listen carefully, quietly, gently I can hear the words of your voice like your touch on my hand. Then, now, I remember that the moments that pass between us do not fade away, but are always waiting to reach out from the stillness and plant themselves upon the page.
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