sitting in my closet
is one of my last memories of you.
ratty, beaten jacket
and it smells like you.

of the better days.
of walking hand in hand
of laughing shamelessly
of exploring, eating, kissing.

of the worst days.
of throwing our hands up
of crying hopelessly
of hiding, screaming, cursing.

it smells of you,
my home.
it smells of you,
my lover.
it smells of you,
that jacket, my jacket
which wraps me up
in so much
love and
too much pain.

you. are. gone.
yet
trapped
in the seams of fabric.