I was holding onto it.
It covering my shoulders that she would massage as I played video games.
Covering my back that she use to lay on as we watched episodes of British television.
It was the color of dark grey; the color that matched the clouds that hang over my psyche while I dug ditches under the memories that plagued my mind uncontrollably.
Six brown buttons made of wood that held engravings from a time when I listened to the earth with more than just my ears.
Back when I use to leave them unbuttoned just so she knew I was always ready for a hug.
The only jacket that didn’t have inner pockets, because I had someone who I could talk to so there was no reason to conceal anything.
The front pockets housed the trinkets that were created every time we both said ‘i love you’ to each other.
They were overflowing and the seams stretching beyond the gravestone that rest right under the pleatuea that our relationship had reached.
Still haven’t seen a view as grand as that one.
Trying to retrace my steps to gain what I had lost in the bustle of trying to live a free and prosporous life.
There must have been someone else that picked it up who you was just passing by.
My attention was elsewhere;
The jacket that I had worn during my most trying of days was now no longer in my possession.
Searching my closet several times before I leave to start my day.
Thinking that it must of fell somewhere in a place where I couldn’t see or reach it easily.
It’s odd that I wore the jacket even though it didn’t fit me as well as my others, but still it was my favorite.
Right under the faux leather jacket made by Levi that I would wear over it if the temperature was at an unbearable degree.
As I tried to remember where I misplaced the jacket I began to realize that my favorite pieces of clothing were the same color as the different shades of her skin.
My sadness that came from reminising was something that I wrote off as being normal with someone who was in the same state that I was.
My favorite part about her was how her dark shades reflected the colors of life around her.
She was a prism of ebony that wove intricate tapastries of color just as the fabric of my dark grey jacket did to form something beautiful.
She wasn’t for me.
And just as the jacket that she bought me had now been misplaced.
I’ve come to the understanding that the jacket wasn’t for me either.