You gave me your hoodie

last fall, when we were in love.

It stays unworn on my loveseat,

covered in cat hair and memories.

The blue and gray swirls

reminiscent of the storm that tore us apart.

You gave me your hoodie

to keep me warm, more so

to claim me as yours.

It fit me just snugly enough

to feel like you’re still wrapped around me.

Your scarred arms squeezing me

to keep me from falling apart.

The scent of cigarettes

once permeated the fibers

from your scumbag dad and

ditzy stepmom you hate so much.

But now it just smells like

home:

a smell you get used to,

but everyone else notices it

the second they walk through the door.

I can’t get rid of it.

That’s because I

will never truly rid myself

of you,

my first love.