This is awkward. I don’t want it to be, but it is. We’ve become the sort of friends that are only friends because we don’t know how not to be. After 13 years it’s not meaningful, it’s habitual.

We have a history, and that counts, but we don’t even fit into each other anymore, and the more I hang on and force myself to smile when I see you, it feels like I am perpetuating this false narrative about myself.

I love where I am right now. I’m thankful we had what we had, but we’ve changed and grown into different things and that’s allowed. We’re allowed to move on.

So, goodbye old friend. I can’t see you in my closet anymore. I’m not a size 12. And I appreciate a bit more stretch these days.

goodby jeans

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