When I was a kid, I was very sentimental about clothing. I hoarded many clothes because I was attached to every piece. The comforting fabric, the statement the print made, the feeling of looking in the mirror knowing it's mine. But the following year, the clothes didn't fit or work out for me. They would feel uncomfortable and itchy and didn't bring me any joy. I would still force it to make it work, though. 

Every once in a while, I would have to get rid of clothes. I had this beautiful black swimsuit. It was new and would make me feel joyful. However, the straps would pull on my skin near my collarbones. My mom noticed my discomfort and told me I should retire it. I didn't want to, and I never wanted to. I was going to make it work for at least another year. She disagreed. While sobbing and letting the silky stretchy fabric soak my tears, I ran to my room, knowing I wouldn't find anything like it again. And I never did. It took a long time, but I had to move on, even if I didn't want to. Time wasn't going to stop for me. 

When I was older, I received a ribbed, yellow floral shirt in the mail. It made me feel so mature because it looked like a sophisticated shirt a teenager would have. I wasn't a sophisticated teenager. I felt a genuine feeling that I didn't need to fake for anyone, confidence. I loved it so much. It was a hard feeling to come by when everyone competed against each other. But, I hit a growth spurt and outgrew it quickly. I knew the right thing to do was to stop wearing it. I tried to pretend it fit, but the sleeves squeezed my arms, and the hems started to creep up my forearms and stomach. I would feel so much better if I stopped wearing it. Even after I put it in the old clothing box, I would still take it out and try to wear it. I couldn't let my favorite shirt go all of a sudden. I needed it.

I felt angry that the clothing couldn't last forever. It was so hard to move on from the clothes. Especially my favorites. Nothing would replace it, which was why I cried over the swimsuit, and I couldn't get myself to officially put the yellow shirt away. 

Maybe I should have picked the right size in the beginning.

Maybe it would be a perfect size if I didn't grow too fast. 

Maybe it wouldn't have an unrepairable hole if I wasn't so stupid and didn't ruin things. 

Maybe I should have seen the problems from the beginning.

Maybe if I weren't me, they would stay longer.

Maybe they had become some old clothes.