Memories

One year ago, six months after my best friend passed away, her mother gave me her favorite hoodie. It's worn, pilled, the drawstrings chewed on, and the elastic starting to droop, but it smells like my friend. I wear it when I miss her most and imagine she's beside me, holding me while I reminisce, laugh, and cry. To anyone else, it's a cheap sweater. To me, it's all I have left of my best friend in the world.