A black piece of fabric,
hidden in the back of my closet,
ripped and frayed,
a metaphor for our relationship.
But I’m starting to forget you,
and I haven’t worn that sweater in months.
I haven’t slept with it in my arms.
It doesn’t smell like you anymore.
The sun rises and sets every day,
and it stays in the back of my closet,
and the back of my mind.
I’m starting to forget about it.
If it disappeared from my closet,
I don’t think I would even notice.
Maybe it’s because of the warm weather,
so it’s pushed aside with my winter clothes,
or maybe I don’t rely on it
to feel close to you anymore.
I’m forgetting about that stupid piece of fabric,
ripped and frayed,
just like I’m forgetting about you.