Tracing the Smooth Cover

The room was entirely still. A gentle warmth stirred through my patchwork seams, easing into my fingers. Taking a quiet moment to observe, I slowly bent my arm and lifted my hand—it followed my thought without hesitation. Beneath me was the smooth, cool cardstock of a purple composition book, resting atop the fuzzy green pile of the rug. I reached out and gently brushed my fingertips over the white cursive letters printed across the surface, feeling the subtle change in texture. I remained right there, resting quietly in the calm night.