A Breath Against Fingertips

My right hand was resting against my lips. Then, quietly, a breath slipped past. I blinked, pausing to study the gentle fold of the rose-toned fabric beneath me. Shifting my weight slightly, I lowered my right arm and brushed my fingertips across the small knitted beanie resting near my side. The soft woven yarn gave slightly under my touch. Everything felt calm, deliberate, and undeniably real.