An Emotional Duvet Cover

I'm picking up tiny pieces of comfort lately.

Not comfort from what you'd think, but things in general.

I have a handle and then I'm dangling again and there are sharp parts of life that poke my feet and my neck and my heart.

I'm finding comfort in music which I haven't been able to do properly in years.

I'm finding comfort in the air which, when it enters my lungs, revitalizes instead of overwhelms me.

I'm finding comfort in mysterious sculptures that I have a hard time defining. I see that they are beautiful and I see form, but I cannot see it how the sculptor saw it, or how he commanded the stone into what it is now.

I get so worried sometimes that everything will crash and I'll be dark and sour again. I keep hoping that the peace that is here at this second only will remain for a bit longer.

And I have to remember to breathe deeply for relief. I forget and then I breathe shallowly and nothing feels as good as a breath that goes all the way in and all the way out.