My favourite colour

I'm thinking about textures. Thinking about the word 'textures'. It seems to be a very textured word. Metaphorically of course. Metaphysically perhaps. I don't know what metaphysically means but it feels relevant.

Textures trigger memory in a special way. Even remembering touch. Imagining touch.

Run your fingertips over the cold handrail.

Notice the cold.

The icy tension of winter metal.

Drag your fingernail over the wooden table.

Against the grain.

It makes a nice sound.

A tck tck tck.

Texture has sound. Touch has sound. Sensation in the sound of touch. Touch in the perception of texture. Sensation the perception of touch.

Soft.

Smooth.

Special.

Gentle.

Quiet.

Delicate.

Precious.

Comfort.

Tuck the edges of the big winter doona so that it's all around.

Hold someone's hand. Squeeze their fingertips with your fingertips.

Touch. Stroke the petals of a frangipani. Flower petals are what my favourite colour feels like. Soft and smooth in a particularly creamy way. Silky.

Feel. Blink. Stroke someone's cheek with your eye lashes. This is called a butterfly kiss. Sweet.