I only like sweaters that like me. The comfy ones. The ones that feel like every fine thread is protecting me with a bigger purpose. The way that each sleeve clings to my forearms that were genetically strong due to my parents. The sweaters that have lines that I don’t have to read between because ultimately it is just a sweater and it is only there for me and only me. The sweaters that have a collar that slightly shows my collar bone, which defeats the purpose of calling it a collar. I enjoy the sweaters that were not mine. The ones that were given to me as a comfort item that I now throw in the back of my closet. I only pull them out to reminisce on a different time, place, and mojo. I like the sweaters that are light like the wind. Only really feeling them when there is a slight breeze and the cotton brushes slightly against my toned stomach. I also enjoy the heavy sweaters. The ones that are drenched on my body like I am being hugged by someone and that someone is only the sweater. I do not like the sweaters that are itchy and have secrets hidden within the threads because they tend to cling to me and never let go. These sweaters tend to have a lot of baggage and a lot of time that I don’t need in my life right now. I only like the sweaters that like me. The sweaters that are there to protect, comfort, and hide.