Oh, how you had loved your vintage sweater.
No other sweater had ever been better.
I had always tried searching for one of my own.
Sadly, I had never been able to find the perfect clone.
I had loved the way the sun hit the gold studs.
The light capturing them like they were flower buds.
I had always adored the hint of sheer lace.
It had showed your elegance and stylish taste.
I had remembered asking you if I could borrow it for just a day.
You had always replied with a No way.
The vintage sweater had always looked stunning on you.
You had taken every compliment on cue.
The last time I had seen you, you never came back.
I got the news that you had been killed by a drunk driver
who had drunk a full six pack.
He had weaved and swirled through streets,
never stopping to think about your life and your hearts last beat.
I had been sick at heart to hear I lost my best friend.
It felt like the world had come to an end.
I had been saddened for a long time,
never able to listen to our favorite band, not even one rhyme.
I had thought all I had left of you were our memories.
That was until I had received you again in a form of your vintage sweater.