my old apartment had a spot on the living room floor that radiated warmth. it probably was in close proximity to a radiator in the apartment below mine, but i liked to think that it existed for the sheer pleasure of my feet’s touch.
i would trace my feet along its boundaries, feel the divide between warmth and cold, and wonder if it was a love story meant for only a few tiles to share. it didn’t matter that the whole room wanted to be loved. i wanted to be loved.
every time i rediscovered it, it put my entire body at ease. sometimes, i would lay my whole body on the floor. the warmth could hold my hands, cheek, chest, and the beginning inches of my waist all at once.
i would curl my body as tightly into the fetal position as i could and try to contain the warmth. slowly, my body would start to shake. it was time to let go, and this fact never changed no matter how much i struggled. it always escaped me too soon, and the cold would run up my spine like a shiver.
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