Shiver
I remember the nights when you were cold,
when my warmth was the bridge that carried us back to each other.
You leaning into me felt like proof of love—
like being needed was its own kind of fire.
So now, with the night this warm,
I almost miss the shiver.
Miss the excuse to pull you close,
to feel useful to your heart again.
Could you shiver for me, just a little?
Not from winter—
but so I can remember what it felt like
to keep you warm.
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Author’s Note: I wrote “Shiver” from the quiet ache that lingers after closeness, when the air has gone soft but the body still remembers needing to be held. It is about missing the cold not for its bite, but for the tender logic it gave our nearness—the way discomfort once argued on behalf of touch. In the world of Letters from Xhale, where words are meant to breathe and stay with you, this poem wonders how love rearranges itself when there is no weather left to blame for wanting to be close.
