I pull my knit sweater over my head,
The soft green fabric kissing my skin,
Simultaneously tugging at my curls,
Peering over my shoulders curiously as I debate: jeans or leggings?
My sweater embraces me,
Gently reminding me of rainy days,
Days Dad and I would sit indoors,
Eyes eagerly scanning a puzzle as we tried to pick up the pieces,
Putting together our incomplete picture,
One we can’t resolve no matter how hard we try.
The vivid green is equivalent to my mother’s eyes,
Eyes that always held love for me despite a tongue that failed to do the same,
Invoking matches that were burnt against cigarettes,
Igniting flames that often caused more damage when they were put out.
Tainted tear drops still stain the sweater’s inseam,
Ensuring the memory of her is never eased,
As my first heartbreak forced me to turn to my item of comfort,
Questions and confusion being whispered into the sleeve’s arm,
As I wondered why I wasn’t good enough for love.
Perfume that fails to go away after fifty washes still makes me shiver,
As simple times with shining sunrises run through my brain,
The beach’s natural scent a consistency,
No matter the distance I travel from her sands,
Her lands of golden seashells and mysterious pearls.
My alarm snaps me back to reality,
So I slide on my jeans and Vans,
Which fail to offer the love of my sweater.
Yet I still wear them,
Allowing them to embrace my skin,
As I go out and make a new memory in this attire.