I fell in love with my hoodie in the same way as a man falls in love with a woman.
I met her when she was young.
Her dark-blue skin, with her white and green emblem, shone bright with the beauty of youth.
People would see us together and say,
"Well, they look good together".
They would think,
"He must have money, look how well he is dressed"!
She had an effect on the laws of attraction, driving women to dream that they could adorn me.
Although I started at the same point as everyone else, we traveled in opposite directions.
The more time I spent with her, the more wonderful she became, while the older she grew, she became wretched to everyone else.
The same people who once thought she was attractive now look in disgust and whisper,
"He must be broke to keep something so disgusting".
Others fiendishly question, like a demon on my shoulder,
"Why don't you get rid of that old rag"?
Then they advise, bragging as if they are some idol to be followed,
"The second mine gets a stain or a hole, I throw it in the trash and get another".
I, however, don't see her the way other people do.
She is more beautiful to me now than she was the day I met her.
Her emblem has become wrinkled and cracked.
Her seams are tattered and torn.
Her dark-blue skin has become worn and faded, and the laws of attraction now drive women away.
With these so-called flaws, a connection has been created.
A connection that changes my eyes in such a way that could be nothing short of divine.
Everybody seems to be blind, where I can see.
They see a rip, but I see a bond holding us together.
They see a stain, but I see a souvenir, a reminder of good times had and bad times conquered.
You are free to think whatever you want about my hoodie,
but when the days turn cold,
she keeps me warm, like she did the first time we met.