24 Oct

Put on my old brown jacket, mocha jacket, this morning. The one with the holes in the sleeves and pockets too shallow to hold anything. I thought it would transform me, send me back to nineteen crying it dark brown because I’d upset The X. I thought it would be heavier, more faded than it looked in the back of my closet. But it wasn’t. And it didn’t. Don’t care much for nineteen anyway. I was just curious. I just wanted to see if I looked the same in it. If I looked just as pale and sad as I’d been when I wore it last with him. Brown. Like the earth. Brown like dirt. I thought he bought it for me so I’d blend in. So I wouldn’t feel special or red — bright enough to be bold to be brave and maybe find someone who’d appreciate that. But he probably thought I’d like it. Probably didn’t mean anything by it.


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