You left your hoodie in the backseat. I'll give it to you tomorrow when I see you at school. But for now, it's mine.
In my bedroom, I pull your hoodie over my shoulders and stand looking at myself in the mirror. It's your favorite hoodie, and I understand why. The baggy green fabric is velvety soft against my bare shoulders, and it has the most charming smell about it, a deep, almost smoky scent that is entirely yours. There are streaks of paint on the sleeves, remnants of artwork you've done. I brush my fingers across a golden smudge and close my eyes, wondering what you were painting when you made this one. It doesn't matter. Everything you paint is perfect to me.
On the left sleeve, right above the wrist, there's a tiny heart with an arrow piercing it that was scribbled with a pencil. I drew it during a study session at the library when we were both bored. I'm sort of surprised that you haven't washed the hoodie since then; it's been almost two months, but oh well. You don't really care about those sort of things anyway.
My radio sits on the end table next to my bed, and I turn it on. The lyrics from a Taylor Swift song fill the room; it's one of her first ones, the ones I used to sing along to when I was younger. I know every word. It's called "Stay Beautiful."
"You're beautiful, every little piece, love.
And don't you know, you're really gonna be someone?...
Stay beautiful..."
I close my eyes, wrap my arms around myself, imagining that you're there instead of just your hoodie, and sway to the music. You're so beautiful. Stay beautiful.
I'll see you tomorrrow at school.
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