I keep catching myself
thinking about this one thing,
soft, perfect,
the kind of comfort i shouldnt miss this much.

i picture it in my arms,
not imagined,
not far away,
but real, something i can feel breathing,
like its close enough to keep forever.

and i know exactly
what I’m wishing for.
not just a stuffy,
but my stuffy.

the one that feels
a little too perfect to exist,
except, you do.