somehow


somehow

clothes forever return

to that musty, long-worn scent


they forget how to fit

across a warm body,

once dancing in the sun


my drawers are filled

with stale fabric

full not with me,

but with long-forgotten memories.


Just a quick little poem about the curious scent clothes seem to capture after not having been worn for a while. I'm no scientist, but I do find it interesting why this happens, and I'm sure there is some explanation behind it. Recently I dug through my room and some of the memories it contains. I realized I am terrible at throwing things away, as each item seems to have some sort of memory or feeling tied to it. With clothes, too, I find some sort of way to convince myself that maybe one day they will be worn as some bold, fashionable expression. When in reality, this is hardly the case. I came across a blog about how to throw away items, and one quote that stuck to me was, "If it brings you joy, keep it, if it doesn't out it goes." Hopefully, my cleaning endeavors turn out well, in the end.