- Laughter
- Hands
- Roads
- Learning
- Warmth
- Cold
- Fire
- Grief
- Words
- Words
- Words
- Words
- Words
- Words
- Laughter.
Writing with you feels like pressing my hand against a window, you pressing back from the other side of the pane, and the glass between us suddenly dissolving into thin air — our palms kissing warmly, exactly as they should.