My brother hugged tight.
Every time I said: “Not so tight.”
He laughed—and squeezed a little tighter.
I miss those now.
BigHug keeps its form. It does not change. But it responds.
Closeness doesn’t go unanswered. You step in—and something begins.
Not soft. Not comforting. A response that knows pressure.
The work holds a moment that won’t return.
No simulation of tenderness.
A memory of weight.