My Jeans

I think I have lost my jeans. I searched everywhere, but I am not able to find her. ( "Her" because I don't feel comfortable saying "My jeans... I love him!" and not because it is a ladies jeans )

When I had bought that jeans, I had never expected to grow so much attached to her. She was not faded or fancy printed. She was a simple ordinary blue jeans. Over the time she turned from just one of my jeans into my favourite leg wear. She was perfect for me. I felt very comfortable with her and hence I was more confident and successful in my endeavors. The fact that I can't find her is eating into me. There has been times when I just couldn't force her off my legs. We were the inseparables. She was my live-in-jeans, day and night. When ever I had to select a shirt, I used to pick the one that would go best with her. I loved washing and pressing her myself with that extra bit of care and affection.

But yesterday, I accidentally spilled hot coffee on her. You have no idea how sorry I was about it. I wonder if she is still angry and is hiding from me. I can never stain her intentionally, you know. There isn't another piece of clothing more dearer to me. In fact there isn't anything else more dearer to me.

She was one of those jeans that comes with a button on the back pocket. So I could confide my wallet with her without being alarmed about pick pockets. She was part of all my happiness and sorrows. A relationship in which I was always mad about her, but could never get mad at her. I took her with me where ever I went. Even when I was required to wear a uniform pants, I used to have her in my bag. It breakes my heart to be away from her.

I cannot live without her. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I can't even think about anything else. Away from her I don't think I will survive for long. How could she think that I had purposefully hurt her? I miss you, my jeans. Where ever you are, be happy. This is the last wish of a dying heart.