It was nice to see you today. (Amongst two others.) Opening and closing with a hug. It was nice. Because the last time we hugged I said, "I don't think I've hugged you before," which maybe was an accidental lie but was at least next to the truth. So it was nice to hug you. In a strange sense.
And then later I said to them, "It is like a hug. Like your shoulder is hugging your ear. Make it like that."
You look good in pink. Or maybe it was purple. I am red. Thank you.
I get nostalgic over small and sometimes imagined things very easily. A minor and tortuously enjoyable flaw.
Some strange sort of affection for you, as usual. Like Sunday morning teapots and loading washing machines and leaving the door unlocked all night and never using the last few metres of the hallway and self-saucing chocolate pudding.
And living by myself but with others.
Yes, it is good, and I am happy for you.
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