I'm packing up and getting ready to fly back to the city that never sleeps.
I am also putting together a box of clothes to be sent to me, for camp this summer. This means I must sort through all the clothes I have kept at home in various drawers and suitcases, finding the familiar pants and shirts that smell like summer. There are always surprises.
Pants that didn't fit- do, and pants that did fit- don't. It's an odd occurrence, this garment-swapping. I leave behind clothes that don't fit now, and take back some things I haven't worn for two years. I expect I'll soon be leaving these items behind again, only to reclaim them in the future. It's a sad cycle.
The one constant in this cycle is the Kleenex.
In almost all of the pants I tried on, there have been tissues in the pockets. Clean, yet fossilized.
The most endearing part of it all is when you slide into an old pair of pants, and they greet you like an old friend. They fit like you never stopped wearing them. The immutability of this garmental bond is extraordinary. Their color and strength may be transient, but the outpouring of love you feel as you step in: eternal.
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