Hanging on a chair,
yet untouched and drowned in loneliness.
Now and then,
my eyes would like to roam themselves,
so I can look at the fabric,
enveloped with new stories.
My fingers, tasting every detail,
Now I let my arms slip in the sleeves of my plaid shirt,
I let my mind drift to my fingers,
touching the buttons they like to play with.
I roll down my sleeves,
to feel every warmth,
to feel safe..