“It’s like a painful tickle, right?”
she asks me, gesturing to her mid-lower back,
the same place on me she just spent
I-don’t-know-how-long untying knots.
“Yes,” I tell her, thinking how
I’d tried my best to stay stoic
while my body betrayed me.
“We’ll work on that next time,” and she smiles
a sweet, knowing, caring smile, and adds,
“It’s probably some emotion you’re holding on to.”
I flinch, but not with discomfort.
We hug, and in the comfort of her embrace,
I’m still thinking about how at-ease I felt
when, an hour earlier while looking through
the face rest, I saw
she wasn’t wearing shoes.


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