Sweater weather here in north Texas starts around the end of September/beginning of October, giving people like me an excuse to start wearing utterly unfashionable outerwear and drink hot tea in the middle of the day. My friends who live in the truly cold climates of Norway, Canada, England and even just the North Eastern states here in the US like to make fun of my excitement for chill winds, but I tell them that until they experience the please-just-shoot-me-already-devil’s-armpit that a Texas summer can be, they can just leave me and my sweaters in happy peace.
Long sleeves running past my hands, dancing a pencil around a page, steam curling upwards from any one of my coffee cups stashed around my desk, listening to odd playlists while singing along out of key… it’s a small paradise in a tiny stasis shell. I draw the mountains I long to see everyday, little birds from my childhood memories that flutter onto pages with ease, and surround myself with art books, comics, letters from penpals and at least 6 tabs open on my macbook.
Maybe out in the real world I have to pretend that I don’t daydream all the time, hold conversations that have nothing to do with different realities or the intricate beauty of prose, hold my limbs in peace and not deliriously shatter in all directions but …in this moment, graphite dust smeared up and down my hands, the light fading in the sky, headphones on and drowning out everything but a perfect rhythm, I am content and loveliness is caught in the cup of coffee that I bring to my lips.