I found it funny you even gave me that hat. You had dropped me off at the airport, plopped it onto my head and drove off. I knew it was your way of saying take care, but it felt foreign. I wore it everywhere I went, ignoring the stares. I wanted to take a small part of you with me. When you called and messaged I felt my insides glow warm, but then you started drinking and the calls became destructive. I got more tense the longer I was away. I wanted to come home and hold you close; you had a hold over me. Pure manipulation and fear you’d leave. And you did.
Now, when I look through these photos I can see that hat, your travelling hat, and my chest aches. For that hat is on another girls head, the one you left me for; the one you met while you still held my heart in your hands. That hat went many places and was how I took you with me.
Do you think of me when you wear it? Do you think of me when it sits lopsided on her head?