I have a sick-sweatshirt. Hoodie to be exact. It was a hand-me-down from my older brother that's never fit, unless you count me fitting my entire self inside of it, which is why it remains in my closet most days of the year. It's warmth is perfect for the chills of a high fever, but I mostly keep it for the small joy of crawling inside of something soft that holds me together.
In such a fragile state, the smallest spouts of joy are worth lingering in. I am trying to linger daily in such little things because even those are gifts.
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