The Yellow Button Up POV: Ryder Sartell
I think you should give me your yellow button up. The one you wear when it’s late at night and you throw it on because you don’t like it enough to wear it outside. That one. I mean, I think it’s only fair. You’ve stolen half of my clothes.
Well, not really. It’s more like half of my clothes are on your side of our closet.
I guess that’s not really it either. Because there aren’t really sides of our closet anymore. No separation. No distance. No distinction of what’s technically yours and what’s technically mine.
But, anyway, my point is that I’d really like something of yours to call mine. I guess the button-up would do no good: I wouldn’t fit it. And you saying you can’t fit my close is not the same. When my grey hoodie passes your knees, it’s adorable. You look like a human ball that’s sponsored by Nike. If I were to wear your yellow button up I’d look like I’d gone shopping for the first time in ten years -- and I’ve gained weight.
Maybe that bracelet at the bottom of your bedside table you never wear. The one that looks more like a piece of string. That one. Just so that it’s fair. Just so if someone asks me where I got it, I can say, “I don’t know. I stole it from my girlfriend.” Just like you say every time someone asks you about my Nike sweatshirt.
I’d never take it off. And I’d never let anyone hold it.
But then you get up from the kitchen island, push up your glasses, and lay your head on my lap as you keep writing. And I realize I’d much rather take all of you, rather than the little pieces.
I can only pray I will never have to hold on to little pieces.
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
