sometimes i forget this thick layer covering me and can't see it for the holes, the pulls and the dropped stitches. sometimes it gives no warmth at all, though it did yesterday and the day before, thought it is heavy and woollen, though it should give warmth. sometimes i can't help but see lack where there is a laden table, heat where there is hearth, smoke where all there is is fire. sometimes i can't remember to hold hands that aren't holding mine, to touch faces that need to be touched. sometimes, i am a vanished shadow, set before the sun even lets the shape of me fade. and then from the thickening cloud of all of this i have made, i remember all i have to do is step outwards and upwards from under it, that you will catch me when it starts to fall. that i will catch myself.