It's weird the things you start to miss. It's little bitty, intangible moments. Things so brief and wide that they are impossible to label. They are full of gold that sloshes out when they flee so fast. Can't get your hands around it, hardly even see it, but it feels.

It is affection. Just a quick flutter of happy without doubt. Warm and safe and jittery exciting. A tiny wasp with a tinier life span. Comfort. It is a weird and shaky thing, lulling and dangerous. Makes me lazy and content, clingy.

Harder to shake than crack, that moment when, thoughtless with sleep, they pull you into their crook and sigh back to sleep. Home. You can't fake it.