I scan the aisles of discarded things. Underpaying homage to bygone days and fashion flings. Everything I tried was a size too big or a style too old. Searching scouring, until finally– I found it. I Rifled through the pockets and ensured the zippers zipped, while trying not to think of the person who wore it before, and the reason their garment was discarded to the thrift store. And I hate the way you smell, because you smell like someone else. And every torn seam and frayed sleeve tells of your history without me. But you keep me warm. And I’ll keep you safe. Remind myself that I’m the one you’re draped around today. And soon your pockets are filled with our things and the places we’ve been. And I’ll never leave home or brave the cold without you again.