Fabric of Mine

My fabric would capture me. It would be filled with love, intertwined with adventure and euphoria. The braids and weaves of hope. I would capture the feeling of the sun gently rocking you awake in the morning. The feeling of grass tickling in between your toes and the light sound of sprinkles on a tin roof. I would make a shirt- no a sweatshirt- out of my fabric. It would be both stylish and functional. The feeling of a big hug when you need it most. It would have the feeling of home. The smell of my mom’s legendary zucchini bread and the sounds of family banter. My sweatshirt would symbolize the important things to me, it would be a reminder of my friends and family, a pick me up on an eh day, and a sense of calm. It would be composed of my mom’s love and laced with my dad’s humor. It would have dashes of sister arguments- I mean disagreements- and bundles of determination. It would also have those important qualities to remind me to stay true to myself. The reminders of determination, honesty, and above all, kindness. My fabric would hold me tight with laughter from my friends and cheering from my teammates. It would be loud. It would be loud, not only on the outside but on the inside as well. It would be bursting with color, light peeking through the weaves of the fabric, an explosion like flowers opening in spring or leaves falling in autumn. It would be loud like both silence and yelling. It would be loud like me. It would hold calm like water running over rocks, smoother and smoother as time goes by. It would have feelings of unpredictable experiences. Adventure. Excitement. 

My fabric would be simple. It would hold me accountable to being unapologetically myself. It would hold onto the special thoughts and memories. It would provide reminders of warmth and love. It would be the feeling of family and home.

It would be mine.