Fold the miles

No arms.

No faces.

I wish you lived closer, 

So you would comfort me.

Hold me.

That I didn't have to wish for you, but just call on you.

I don't want to pretend your warmth.

I want to know it's real and existent.

I want to talk about it.

I want to endlessly melt my words onto you,

and know your nearness without delay.

I need you to speak back to me.

I see you.

I hear you, through the quiet hum of still separation.

Your words would waltz in on me like soft autumn weather onto my chest.

I wouldn't ask you why you ache, just wrap you slowly and silently, like a promise kept in silence.

Orangey hues around you.

A color that breathes.

A color that stands for liberty.

A pulse that beats, "you're held, even now."

And for a moment, that stiffness in you would soften. 

That strong grip would loosen,

And everything would exhale.

If I could, I'd skip through space and time, fold the miles, and meet you where your yearning breathes.

You wouldn't have to dream for warmth, and you wouldn't have to call on me.

I'd already be there;

in a heartbeat,

a whisper,

a gentle yes, a nod, a sigh, to everything you feel.

This poem speaks to the longing for comfort and love not as a person, but as a presence - a hug that exists beyond arms or faces. The speaker yearns for warmth that feels real and near, not imagined or distant. Through imagery of soft autumn air and orange hues, comfort becomes a living force: gentle, freeing, and deeply human. The poem unfolds as a quiet conversation with the essence of love itself - a desire to be held by understanding, to feel safety and nearness even across silence and separation. In the end, the "hug" symbolizes the soul's release - where everything softens, exhales, and is finally at peace.