The Hoodie

He left his hoodie. That was three months ago. I still wear it to sleep.

We met sophomore year, in a library group project neither of us cared about. He'd steal my fries and call it "research." By spring, he was just... mine. Or I thought so.

Then October happened. His replies got slower. "Haha" instead of paragraphs. Delivered, not read. Read, not answered. I kept telling myself he was stressed. Midterms, you know?

One night I asked, "Are we okay?" He typed for like four minutes. Four. Minutes. I watched those three little dots disappear and come back, over and over. Then: "I just need space."

Space. Cool. I'll be here, floating in it.

I washed the hoodie once, thinking I'd return it. It stopped smelling like him, so I cried and put it back in the dryer with my own perfume on it, which makes no sense, I know.

Last week, my roommate came back from a party and said, "Okay don't be mad. He's single. He's been single since August."

August. The month BEFORE he asked for space.

So he didn't need space from a relationship. He needed space from me.

And the worst part? I'm typing this in his hoodie, at 2 AM, with his playlist on, and I still hope the screen lights up.

It's been three months. The hoodie's warm. He never was.