The day she stopped wearing his shirt.  

You wear his shirt to feel closer to him, to have a part of him with you. You miss him and it brings you comfort. Every night, you put it on and climb into bed. Every morning you fold it and place it on your bed. You wait for a word from him. You wait for him to come back, but he never does.

There comes a point when you’ve been pushed beyond your breaking point by the person you love that you begin to consider their love for you. You think about it and you realize that love doesn’t intentionally hurt the one it loves.

You’re being pushed and you’re being hurt by the one you give everything to. Love begins to change into something that doesn’t mean as much. Eventually, it makes you realize that you don’t mean anything to that person.

Eventually, you have hurt so much that you stop trying. What once was beautiful no longer wants you to participate. So, you toss that shirt on the floor, pull on your own shirt and climb into your empty bed. You hug your pillow and cry yourself to sleep. You still love him, but you have to make yourself let him go. He doesn’t want you, it’s time for you to accept it.

Even further down the road, you rarely even think of him. But one day you’re packing away your fuzzy warm sweaters and you find that shirt tossed in the back of your closet. Disgust floods through you and you remember what he did and who he is. You think back to the days you wore that shirt and how you cried for him. You wonder why you even cared or why you let him make you feel that way. You know that you love too deeply and you love the wrong ones. Always loving them and holding on for far too long to those that crush you.

You look at it, that stupid shirt that you clung to for so many nights. That tear stained shirt, that bastard’s shirt. You start to hate yourself a little bit for feeling the feelings that you felt. You pick it up and toss it on the chair, you’ll drop it at the homeless shelter along with the rest of his things still lingering around the house.

You think about how much you wanted him back, for a week or two. You remember when heartbreak turned to anger for all the broken promises and for how much he used you. You love so easily and deeply and the right kind of man can easily take advantage of a woman like that. He did, he most definitely did. He took advantage of your heart for his own personal gain. You let him, you let him because you didn’t see it until it was too late.

You love, that’s what you do. You keep loving despite all the loss and shitty men. You love, knowing that in a year or so, you may well be crying yourself to sleep in a man’s shirt that he left behind. But still, you love.