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.