His most prized possession;
The white shirt,
The one he was wearing
When he first met her,
The one he wore
On their first date,
On many more days,
And nights.
The white shirt that she loved,
To wear, and see him wear.
Its smell allured her,
Its feel had a warmth,
She wanted to hug it tight,
And never let go.
The white shirt became their favourite memory,
That was to stay with them for ever,
But they knew not,
The white shirt would soon be,
Just a memory.
The night he didn’t return home,
She didn’t blink an eyelid,
Anxious and impatient,
Looking out of the window every minute.
A hundred calls, a thousand texts,
A sleepless night, without an answer.
Left all alone now,
Only memories of him remained,
And the white shirt,
That hung in the closet.
She embraced it, wept in it,
Searched for him
In the white shirt.
Now,
Her most prized possession;
His white shirt.

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