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It's just an old sweatshirt, but to me, it is the world.

When I'm having a bad day,

a day where I know everything will go wrong,

but I have to get through it anyway

I ask to wear one of your sweatshirts.

 

And all throughout the day, I feel like I might be protected,

just by having the letters of your name on my back.

Even though wearing your sweatshirt is false security,

and even though everything through out the day still goes wrong..

 

When I get home, I put on some yoga pants and a pair of comfy socks;

I throw my hair in a bun and find my glasses,

sit down and watch TV while wearing your sweatshirt..

 

And finally,

I am safe.

 

I can smell your shampoo in the hood,

I can smell the soap that you use to wash your hands,

mixed with the smell of your lotion on the sleeves.

It seems like the warmth of your body is held in the soft cotton fibers,

and is now radiating back into me.

 

I can see all the times you've worn it on the couch watching movies,

or all of the times you pulled the hood around your face to escape the rain.

I think it may be a little sad that I am so grateful for a piece of clothing.

 

But it is yours,

therefore,

it is mine.

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Written by
kaylin-martin
American
Published
Oct 23, 2012
Lines·Words
24·222
Permission

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