I will wear you until the threads begin twiddling into former ghosts of themselves.

The last wooly remnants still slightly smell like your woodsy scent and that’s why I don’t go camping anymore.

It’s not because I hate the thought of you but I’ve Always hated kicking someone down when they’re just beginning to get back up and the thought of you does that to me.

The memory of that truck doused in flames on the way to Washington remains in my overworked brain still. The smell of burnt, charcoaled tires and metal prominent in the chilly December air. I never feared fire until I put myself in the shoes of that lonesome truck driver and that was the night I wanted to try dying a little as an attempt to get closer to you.

You see it’s not death that paralyzes my emotions and sends me into a numb, fearful state. The thought of regrets and things left unsaid with people, that didn’t understand what I was going through at the time is what gets my anxiety pumping.
Oh, why do I wear this sweater despite the warmth outside? To thaw the frost surrounding my heart