They are just slippers, but that pair so sweet, of faded damask leather and sheepskin linings hold your impression in the fleece. I wake to find them by my bed as if you had joined me in sleep, and I daydream in warm memories that you are under the covers and hid. There’s something about seeing them empty. Wherever I find them I find you, and I smile with blessed contentment even though, after all, they are just slippers.