The Sweater

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I miss you so much.

Those few words entered my mind as I stare at the nostalgic piece of clothing hanging loosely in my closet.

I remember. I remember everything.

The way he smiled at me as his strong arms wrapped itself around me, refusing to let go. The warmth that spreads every time we sit on the couch, all cuddled up together. I remember his scent. A mixture of sweet vanilla and cinnamon, an unmistakable hint of peppermint present. I remember him. I remember everything.

I reach out to touch the fabric. As my hands go closer more pictures of him flash in my mind and with every click of each photograph, sharp needles prickle my heart. It feels soft as the brown cloth brushed across my fingers.

Why is this still here? I should've thrown it away the moment he had left. I should've but something inside always had to stop me from doing so.

I remember that day. That day when I visited his house. That day when he had accidentally spilled a drink on my shirt. Apple Juice to be exact. The panic had quickly spread across his face as he frantically apologized to me. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I could hear his words in my head.

I smile a little to myself at the memory. I close my eyes. This should end. I should throw it away. Just like what he did. Just like when he threw me away. That sweater should leave. Just like when he had left me.

A Collection of My Thoughts || Poems & Prose (Inspired by Lang Leav) #wattys2019Where stories live. Discover now