You are not your thoughts, she reminds me. Thoughts lead to feelings.
She tells me to snap the band on my wrist whenever I think of you.
Whenever you are caught in those thoughts, I want you to visualise your future, somewhere you are happy. What you imagine, you attract.
I picture a house with sea windows.
I am supine; a fire stipples my bare skin. Blackbirds glister the branches of a tree, their song a quickening; winter sunlight arouses your eyes: I reach to kiss you.
My wrist burns with the snap.
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