comforter

Suddenly the cold is gone.
Greensboro has lost it's bite.
Its hot at night but my ceiling fan feels foreign to me. I am intimidated by its violent rotations and annoyed by the rhythmic squeaking that develops over the hours before I angrily rise to my knees on the bed to reset its position.
The act feels familiar.
It feels so good in my bed but the old comforts of winter have lost some of their..comfort.
The increasing temperature manifests flaws in my happiness. I wake up in a sweat. It makes me sad.
I mourn the weight of my comforter. My sheet feels so weak and incapable of protecting me.
Of comforting me.
I burrow in pillows.
My fan begins to squeak.