I’m your favorite shirt that accidentally gets put into the wash wrong. Maybe I got put in with a different color and now I’m no longer the color that looks good on you. Maybe I was ran through the dryer and now fit too tight in the shoulders. Maybe my logo is a faded, blotchy version of what it once was.
I’m still in your closet, for whatever reason. Nostalgia, perhaps, or hopes that maybe one day you can find a use for me. I lay there, gathering dust, hoping one day you’ll pick me up again. Run your fingers over my seams and remember everything that we said we would do, the joys we shared. Find the little flaws, the tears and holes in my fabric and remember how we got them. Hold me close, feel how soft my well worn self is.
You’ll return me to the hanger in the end. Or maybe folded up neatly on the shelf. Quickly, quietly, quelling our feelings. Boxed away again in the closet.
I’ve never been a fan of dark or small places.








