I like to wear his shirts. Even more so when he's not home. Especially to bed--they're so much roomier than mine. If I'm warmed from a hot shower, I grab one of his new undershirts. So white clean, so soft cotton. If I'm cold I go for a long-sleeve thermal. The cuffs stretch over my fingertips. I'm comforted and somehow, though I get a little lost in the extra fabric, I feel closer to him. I sleep swaddled in sheet, shirt, and sweet sorts of dreams.
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