The Anatomy of An Aguamala

For context’s sake I feel I should describe where I am right now.

I’m huddled under a duvet the color of snow, with the exception of one tear I’ve patched with cadmium-yellow embroidery thread to stop the little feathers from bursting at the seams. My feet are tangled amongst my sheets and my sweater’s bunched up around my ribcage, leaving my stomach naked and cold. There’s rain pounding incessantly against the windows and flooding my eardrums with tin roof rattles and little pitter-patters against the glass. What’s left of the sun is being filtered through heavy hazel clouds and my sheer creme curtains, falling in horizontal shafts against the vertical slats of wood on my floor and making a latticework pattern of light. It’s rather blue and gloomy and it’s days like this that I love. So I’m feeling nostalgic…