Each year I make one or so esoteric New Year’s resolutions, stemming more from a churn of creativity than a desire to reform. This year my resolve is for texture - so much of my life is spent caught in the grind. So many rough people in my life, scraped souls with tongues gritty as sand. They throw me into brier patches because I always find a creative way out, and the scratches make pretty patterns.
This year I’ll find some smooth and soft to balance out the gears that get jammed up without grease. I’ll patch in some laughs, cracked smiles and hugs, hugs, hugs. I can’t wait for some hugs. I’ll stop wondering what secret illness has me losing more weight, and I’ll take an extra ten to marvel at the painted Texas sky - every morning on my rooftop, moments like threads, woven and stitched.