Missing A Part Of Myself
It’s been a while but I still think of you. Every Christmas I struggle not to reflect on how we met but this year is different and I thought it might be a good time to be honest with myself and reminisce on the time that’s passed between us. Look at me - all self-aware and enlightened. I promise I’ve grown since we parted.
I remember when I first saw you. It was a warm afternoon in Barcelona and I was shopping with my sister. It was my first time in Europe and my first time travelling with her. I saw you across the wooden panelled floors - your dark leathery skin contrasted against the white walls of the store and you stood out in a room crowded with shoppers, all locals like yourself.
Suddenly brave (or maybe it was the heat) I locked eyes on you and strode across the room, bolder than I’d ever been, reaching for an arm. I took you home with me that night, to my sister’s approval. She was a fan and so was I, delighted in my courage and youthful impulsiveness. We were together every day after that, we visited the Sagrada Familia together, ate tapas and drank cava. We partied until the mornings and you kept me warm in your embrace all the way home.
Two weeks later I was back in Melbourne. You dutifully followed me home, allowing me to steal you away from yours. You blended into the culture here effortlessly. All my friends adored your Spanish tones and heritage, your style seamless with the streets and shoppers that hurried past us. A true nomad, you switched from Spain’s siesta ways to Melbourne’s brunching life so fast; two cities whose hearts beat at different hours of the day. We delighted in our mutual ability to sink into the tide of locals unnoticed.
Who would have guessed how short lived our time together would be? Our last moments would be fleeting, nearly forgettable and bittersweet. I remember exactly who I was with but not where we parted. It’s been four years since I lost you and I take full responsibility. Although I’ll never know how it happened, you somehow slipped through my fingers, carelessly at the bar that Christmas eve. Since then I haven’t been able to find another jacket that fits as perfectly, feels as soft or is cut in the shape that flatters my waistline as you did. I have even saved a picture of you and plan to have another tailored to match your shape and style. I haven’t been with another since. Dear leather jacket, it’s been a while but I still think of you.