First day of April, and it's cold outside. Rain that leaves you damp all day, wind that slips in under the door and bites your ankles.
I wait for the days I can open the windows and breathe life into this place again, let flowers crop up in the carpet and have bees buzz in my ears while I make dinner. Feel renewed, alive, awake.
But I don't mind these days, the winter ones. I become the things around me, the old yellow chair and the antique table with the dents and scratches. These nights, wrapped in blankets and tucking my legs under me, I am comfortable being quiet and alone.