The Jeans He Bought Me

Creased, crisp, they cupped my curves slyly, stretching so nice over Christmastime thighs. The casual shrug of denim held my hips, and that beautiful break at the knee… They had a tenor zipper, firm brass button, hems tucked neat, sweet, I could swear they smelled like his cologne. But the zip stopped, button popped, the knee stretched thin and then it cracked, had to be patched, grass stains sprouted, mud speckled the heels. I scrubbed and scrubbed. The hems fell and I don’t know when, but this old blue skin just stopped holding me.