I was doing the laundry today.

For once in a few grey days; blotted with far too many ink stained hands and only blank pages, the sun finally peeked shyly.

I dug out my old jeans, emptying the cotton-lined pockets.
My fingertips are met with a navy blue button off one of your many dozen flannel shirts.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you

And I cannot even sew.
But that button would have to wait, I need to sew myself up first.