Favorite Shirt

I look at a photo

from years ago,

a moment I forgot I lived.

And in it, a shirt.

I can feel it on my skin

its worn softness.

Comfortable,

though ill-fitting.

Worn nearly every day

to bed, to work, to school.

Brought everywhere.

In many pictures

moments

places

trips

the shirt was

against my skin

or at least not far from it.

When did I decide to give it away?

And whose skin is so lucky to feel is easy warmth now?

A reason I fail to recall.

Was it a loose thread? Missing button?

So foolish then... it would have been an easy fix.

Or was it something else?

The way it enhanced my worst qualities. Or draped lazily over my curves.

The way the sleeves refused to stay rolled

and the pocket on the front was not functional at all.

No.

I truly cannot recall, nor the day it ceased to be in my laundry.

In my life.

How funny that something I once held so dear

and which held me

is now only existent when

I look at a photo.