Pink Hoodie

I still have your pink hoodie.

Tucked away in a drawer, in the closet. It's washed, it's clean. It would still fit me if I wore it right now. It won't ever leave unless I let it. It frankly can't unfollow me either. So I still have your hoodie but do you still have my letters? There were 8 of them I recall. Written on yellow legal pad paper. I was 19. Didn't think I was pretty. But I was good at writing so I wrote to you. I put the letters in a Vans shoe box. The shoe box not mine but my brother's. I didn't wear Vans but you did. White ones. The only pair I believe you owned. I put the letters in the box to give them a place where they could rest while we undoubtedly stayed up too late. I wasn't planning on giving them to you. But I did anyway. It was the least I could do because you gave me your pink hoodie.

And I still have your flowers in my memory box. They're dried up. A remnant of time. You picked the flowers from your mother's garden. Couldn't bear the though of spending money at the store. You were always saving money. You worked at the Post Office. Where you encountered letters on a day to day basis. But when it came to mine? I really can't speak on your behalf.

Sometimes I get this feeling that you don't have my yellow legal pad paper letters anymore. That you threw them away, all 8 of them. What I consider some of the best I ever wrote.

But for a relationship that wasn't the best for me and wasn't the best for you either.

They always tell writers to write what they know. I didn't know you. Truly deep down I didn't know who you were yet I poured my passion into the prose. I was so cautious over the cadence. So meticulous over the metaphors. Because I cared about you so much I guess. White vans, yellow paper, pink hoodie. I thought because it didn't work out that you didn't care about me or what I wrote down.

But like I said I can't speak on your behalf so I could be wrong. In fact I probably am wrong. Why dwell on the negative intangible thought? Us not working out isn't such a bad thing. It only appears to be because I'm making it out that way. Instead of dwelling why not remember you giving me those flowers. You making time for me despite working those long hours. You holding my hand, driving me around late at night. Both of us trying to figure things out including ourselves.

You giving me your hoodie and I still having it to this day. And I gave you my letters and you could still have them too. Perhaps you read them every once and while and remember me. This girl when you met her she was 19 and you thought she was very pretty. You did tell me that. It took me some time but I believe you.

I write to myself now. In this journal. I try to write what I know and I also try to write often and honest. Maybe writing in this journal is what will set me free from all the negative thoughts I have. Maybe it will also allow me to get to know myself better.

And maybe this journal is pink just like your hoodie.