Buried in the Fabric

Slipped inside the fabric fold,

a faded receipt, edges worn,

ink smudged like memories blurred,

a meal once shared, now long gone.

I trace the scribbles—

each line a ghost of choices made,

what did I buy, and why,

with laughter stitched between these numbers?

Winter creeps in like a thief,

as I sift through remnants,

small reminders of who I was,

before the chill wrapped tight,

when warmth felt like an everyday blessing,

a jacket left behind,

where life spills out,

a testament to moments unspent.