That sweatshirt.
He had stolen it from me
to keep himself warm
on those cold summer nights.
He gave it its own unique smell.
At the time it smelled safe, like I was home, like happiness,
like him.
But now it is fall.
I put that sweatshirt on this morning,
and now that same scent just makes me feel forgotten.
And like my sweatshirt
needs a wash.