Maroon Threads

In the thrift store, a maroon sweater lies,

its fabric whispers stories from someone who’s gone.

The leaves change outside, painted crimson skies,

a season passing, a memory’s dawn.

Caught in soft light, it’s a fading embrace,

a color that pulls at the corners of thought.

It drapes like a shadow, a familiar face,

a reminder of moments I had once sought.

I touch the coarse wool, feel the weight of the past,

of laughter and heartaches, of warmth and despair.

I’ll leave it behind, though the feelings hold fast,

like threads intertwined in the fabric of air.