I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, it was definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was after all, my favorite shirt. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves, or rather the way it didn't. It wasn't revealing or feminine and it wasn't refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung not only to my body, but to my mind, my soul and my spirit. It was who I am inside and out!
The first time we met, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way, living their lives being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don't mind so much because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don't. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to walk right over and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello! The smile and hello were returned and I do believe that at that precise moment, I was not the only one who saw something special, in this shirt. I was grateful.
For many years we were inseparable. That's something I've never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt must have magic! This shirt brought us together, and it was rewarded by being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!
I'm not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of our relationship. This shirt became the center of hatred and eye rolling, and the mouthing of words, "Oh God, please not this shirt again! I'm so sick of this shirt!" Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had this shirt lost its appeal, so had our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror.
This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there hurt too much, and I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.
I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down a part of me wishes we had never met.
