Smell of freshly laundered bed linen. Warm feet. Warm knees, surprisingly. Earl Grey tea with a spoon or even two of sugar. Warm palm of hand pressed softly to forehead. A pillow, a teddy bear, anything soft and warm pressed against the chest near the heart. Deliberate absence of thought. That's my personal prescription for those moments when the bottomless hole opens in my heart and I can't see further than the black nonexistent wall right in front of me. We all have these moments. It's so human. What is the meaning of life, Universe, everything? It's forty-two, Douglas Adams would have said.
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