A white shirt. A dent goes from your shoulder down the back of your arm. You’re trying to tie a tie.
‘Hooray! Now you’re an adult’, I say happily, clapping my hands.
You slightly turn around to the sound of my voice. The lamp’s light reveals all the unevenness of the fabric. I put my hand on your left shoulder and see your smile in the mirror.
‘Do you think Samantha would like these buttons?’, you ask.
‘And does she like the colour blue?’
Most of your shirts were already hanging in your closet. But you chose the one that was still in the basket of uncovered clothes. The one with the blue buttons.
Perhaps, back then Samantha didn’t have a favourite colour. And maybe it was not about the colour at all. But after almost twenty years, the cornflowers near Samantha’s and your house still remind me of that shirt.
Photo by /__lilalaura
