My favorite sweater has become a part of my life in a quiet way. It’s always there, draped over a chair, folded on the corner of the bed, waiting near the kitchen door. I reach for it without thinking, the same way I reach for my morning coffee or the light switch when the house is still half asleep.

It’s been with me through so many ordinary days.
Early mornings when the kitchen is cool and I’m moving slowly.
Afternoons when I’m rushing, juggling too many things at once.
Evenings when the house finally softens and I can breathe a little more easily.

I don’t think the sweater is special because of how it looks.
It’s meaningful because of what it’s been part of.

It has caught flour while I baked.
Soaked up tears on harder days.
Held the warmth of sunlight during quiet moments
when I paused by the window and tried to gather myself.

It has been there when I needed comfort
and when I didn’t even realize I was looking for it.
It’s a small thing, just fabric and thread,
but it’s lived so much life with me
that it feels almost like a companion.

Some things matter simply because they’ve been part of our days for so long.
From being with us through so many ordinary moments,
that they become part of our story.

Some things become meaningful
simply because they’ve stayed.

Autumn