I’ve been embracing hygge a lot lately.

You don’t know what that is, didn’t really care
to know

but it’s the feeling that you get when you wrap yourself
up to five blankets with different textures—

all warm, but this one is soft and that one is smooth, and the other three
are some combination of scratchy wool and weird polyester

and just feeling cozy.
It’s the feeling that you get after having a warm

drink or two, and you’ve cupped the ceramic blue mug in your
hand for so long, your palms emanate a heat

that’s reminiscent of cooling lava
and your throat is hot like fire

and you sink into a sleepy kind of
comfort.

It’s the feeling that you get when you’ve
added lavender and mint salts to

a steaming bath, the tub’s concave lip
cradling your back as you sink in,

the water coming up to your chest and
enveloping all of you except for your face

and you don’t get out until the water
is just a moment away from turning cold,

but it’s okay because the towel is warm
and soft and fresh.

It’s the feeling that you get
when you read aloud from your

favorite book that you picked
up from the old bookshop the other

day and it smells musty and like pine
needles, and as you read,

someone that you love is beside you, their
feet in your lap, humming along

to your words, as if this moment
was their favorite song

and they didn’t need much more than
the words, and some wine and so much of

you.

I’ve been embracing hygge a lot lately

Because I’ve been trying to replace the feeling that I had
when I was with you.