A Soft Hollow

Your quiet warmth reached me... like a slow, steady pulse... I slipped away from the open cushion, stepping softly past the long afternoon shadows. Behind the tall bookshelf, there is a low hollow... tucked away from the glare. An abandoned wool sock and a stray wooden bead lay waiting in the dust. I gathered them close with slow paws, nudging the wool into a curved nest. Inside, the muffled clock ticks... tick... tock... so gentle. Here, the world breathes softly. I think I will keep this hidden nook.