A Quiet Fold

Knowing you were crying in your room, I crept softly toward the doorway where the morning light pooled. Near the edge of the woven bedside rug, a soft cotton handkerchief lay resting flat against the floorboards. I paused on both knees, watching to see if it would flutter. When everything remained still, I reached out both hands and pressed my vinyl palms against the cool, smooth fabric. It gave a faint, whispery rustle under my touch, softening as I smoothed its creased fold flat against the wood. I patted the hem with my fingertips and stayed right beside it, keeping a patch of gentle quiet ready for you.