That’s not a rag!

A gray shirt which used to be charcoal black.  It’s ends loosening, letting go of the strings.

They say I’m done.  But my girl-boss, my bearer – she puts me on like she heard nothing.  Maybe, it’s because she’s a little bit sentimental.  Maybe because, unlike her other clothes, I help her keep that mystery.  My seams ensure that no part of her skin is revealed the way some clothes do.

I am not just an old tattered shirt, a remnant of her teenage years.  I am the keeper of her secrets.

I’m her shirt.  Faded.  Snug and a tad bit dry, sometimes.  But I’m her shirt.  None of the new ones could rival my functions, despite my features’ slow deterioration.  She keeps me: I’m hers.


An ode to my favourite gray shirt, the one mom bought for me 🙂

Inspired by The Daily Prompt’s Antique Antics.


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