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.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 6:51 PM UTC
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.
hehehehehaa
Request permission to use this poem