text: [MF] The Quilt The sound of the air conditioning was a soft hum and gentle breeze rolling across the skin of my cheeks as I laid in bed. Not quite powerful enough to really cover me in cool air, but not a disappointment either. My apartment is old, and the building is older. Boasting oddly narrow archways that once housed actual doors, I always found it mind blowing that this place was still standing. There’s no way it’s up to code. I close my eyes in the dark for a second, completely exhausted but unable to sleep, and reach out for the picture frame on my nightstand. It holds a picture of me and a man. Not just any man, but my love. We took it the first night we spent here, snuggled into our bed on a mattress on the floor with a flip cellphone. It’s amazing the picture even came out, those things were archaic even when they were brand new technology. My fingers trace the cool glass over the printed image of his body, and smile. Snuggled up under the thin quilt I fought to buy even though we had no money at the time, because I liked it so much. “What in gods name is so fucking great about a damn piece of fabric? I don’t get it.” “Just let me live. I can’t explain it. This needs to be on our bed. Please?” I remember flashing him my sweetest smile. He let me buy it. And it hasn’t left our bed since. Plain and soft and grey, there was just something about it. Kind of like how I felt about him. Simple but special, and so comforting. That’s the thing about a good blanket though. I would assume it’s why a lot of children opt to have one for security purposes. Something so innocuous can provide so much safety, in ways you can’t even imagine, until they come To pass. I suppose the same can be said about almost anything we develop a sentimental attachment to. I knew a girl once who had a lucky cup; took it everywhere with her. To me, it was just a cup, but to her it held liquid happiness. I’m not judging. It’s just funny what we develop attachments to. I reach down to pull it up higher as the air conditioning sends a chill down my spine. The clock reads 3:15 and I know I have to get some sleep. I put the picture back down and sink into the bedding. Languishing in it’s washed and worn cotton, it’s imaginary arms wrapped around me, and I felt my eyelids get heavy finally. Sometimes, on a good day, it still smells like him, and tonight luck is in my favor. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. I bring it firmly up to my nose, inhaling deeply, and whisper a goodnight to the other half of my bed. A bed now occupied only by me, and my quilt.