To my dearest jeans,
It is with deep sadness that I write these words today for you are an amazing piece of clothing and a really good investment of my money. 5 years ago, your strange yet appealing dark denim fabric caught my eye as you were draped alone in one of the hangers of that crowded store. Strange, I thought. For such a happy, crowded store, these denim trousers felt so alone. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to you, why I tried you on. After securing the last of your zippers (man you have so many), I realized you weren’t as snug or as comfortable as most my jeans are. For what I thought was a long while, I deliberated whether I should purchase you or not. Were you worth it or was I just appraising your value too much because I felt we had a connection?
I took a chance.
You know how the rest goes right? The first few times I wore you, it felt a bit like the first. It was awkward and a bit tight but we got through that. It took some effort on both of us. I had to try to wear you with different tops, ones I don’t normally wear and you had to endure my desperate attempts to jump up and down after I’ve had a big lunch just so you’d fit.
The more I wore you and washed you, the safer and happier I feel wearing you. You give me an air of confidence I don’t feel with other pants. You push me to try things I wouldn’t have tried had I worn a skirt or those revealing Daisy Dukes. You made me feel special, like I’m the only one who’ll look good wearing pants. It may not have been true but that security, that acceptance, that love was enough to make me happy.
You made me really happy.
Time came when you became my go to bottoms, my favorite. I’d wear you when I had a championship debate round or some big speech. If I could I would even pack you to Cambodia with me but you knew why I couldn’t. Sometimes, I find myself crying to you (sorry for those tear marks on your already aging skin) and telling you of stories I never had the courage of telling anybody else. I’ve dreamt of the day you’d talk to me too and narrate to me your own tales but that never happened. Not one tear was shed, not one honest, emotional story was told. That was not your thing.
But still I’m grateful you were there.
As the days turned into months and into years, my dependence has made us both wary. I’ve worn you too often that white blots from too much washing are visible from all over your once dark fabric. There are small rips that threaten to grow larger if I wore you even once more.
I do not wish to hurt you or destroy you so this must be it. This must be where we part ways.
I was once told that friendships that do not last were never real anyway. I beg to differ. What we had was real. A friendship which does not last is not necessarily a failed one but one where there’s a mutual recognition that even good chapters come to an end. Do not get me wrong. It pains me deeply to do this for you took a place in my heart that no one else will be able to fill, not even limited edition Ralph Lauren Jeans. You made me better, happier and for that I will forever love you.
We both know it will come to this but I love you to much to put you in the give away pile without saying a proper good bye. This is it. I’ll pray for your happiness every day. I’ll ask the Lord to lead you to a new friend who might do wonders for those rips, the ones which I’ve tried to but cannot fix. Everyday, until I forget, I’ll dream of those days when we were once really happy together.
I will miss you.
With all the love I can muster,
*Because I’m a wimp, the best I could do was address this to my jeans but I know you know better for you taught me metaphors better than anyone.