Holes

 There’s a hole in my jeans, right at the knee. I don’t know when it started coming undone. Maybe it was bound to happen but today the seams are fully open. It started small, enough to ignore. Then the jeans were washed in cycles and bent and rubbed. Now I make the hole larger and larger and I rub the bare skin. Exposed, visible. I used to be bothered by ripped jeans, now it means something more.”I could never wear these jeans” I wear this hole honestly. One day I’ll throw out these jeans. I’ll look back at photos and remember my favorite pair. Then I’ll go out and get new jeans until another hole opens. 

There’s a hole in my jeans, and in my heart.