Warm

The room has red walls and is near entirely made up of windows. Outside of which a torrent of snow wafts down, and has since yesterday. The world is white. One radiator-like space heater chugs in the middle of the room. The floor is covered in paper clippings and thread. A dark teal cabinet rigged not to collapse sits under a plant hanging of the center window. There is no noise, aside from a seconds ticking on the clock.

This whole room must be drawn, must be known, she thinks. The snow outside lights up the room like a fuzzy dream. Her pink sweater is tattered a bit. The girl owns a dog who tugs on it when playing. Time is moving more quickly now, and for the first time I am wanting to slow down, she thinks again, hours do not feel long like they used to. It is nice to savor. The snow falls towards the window now. Icicles hang like teeth on the house across the street.