Hanging in my closet, there’s a navy blue hoodie that I’ve had since the beginning, before all the drugs. It’s not navy anymore, more like a washed out, faded shade of fuchsia. The front pocket is peeling off, stitching come undone. One elbow has a hole torn, fraying, threatening to expand larger. I hardly ever wear it anymore, but I can’t help but hold onto it. Pretty ugly actually, it’s like a scar that lingers. Somehow it’s survived, torn up a bit, ragged and rough around the edges, but lovely nonetheless. I believe beauty has a few holes.
