Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are -- ...
Think of your grief as snow, think of comfort & love as the springtime sun. Let the warmth of the sun melt your grief and let spring shine its light upon you.
The lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.
Change this and that and try again. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.