The saddest moments happen every
second I look back and see myself as a trailing piece of thread that has come undone in your shirt.

I thought my touching your skin made you mine, my feeling your arms, smelling your scent on that fabric, you picking me to wear…

But I’m just a tattered item that’s losing itself in you, losing threads as it goes along, and truth is you had been meaning to chuck me in the bin but always remembered how good you looked in me.

I thought my touching your skin made you mine, my feeling your arms, smelling your scent on that fabric, you picking me to wear…

I want you to fix me, to patch me up and keep, I want you to keep looking good in me; I promise I’ll only fall apart at the seams. I promise.

I want to keep touching your skin. Have you be mine. I want to feel your arms, smell your scent on that fabric. And have you pick me to wear…

Another WriterB Original.

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One thought on “Clothes

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